


The Voltron Games (on hiatus tbh don't expect things from me)

by multidimensionallifeform



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Beware, Blood, Bows, Combat, Death, Depression, Explosions, F/M, Fire, Hunger Games AU, I love them all, I love them by the way, I'm Sorry, I'm so sorry, Knives, M/M, Nonbinary Character, POV Multiple, Poison, Slow Burn, Swords, There's fluff now, Underage Drinking, also:, but like guys, complete angst, don't blame me for the suffering this is all lionbots' fault, don't get used to it, hope you enjoy?, i regret so much, it's between two side characters and retold that it happened, lots - Freeform, mice don't follow the limitations of gender, please don't read if you're sensitive to this stuff, s, slight self harm, the rape/non con moment is ENTIRELY none explicit, there are ocs too, this is a hunger games AU so, this is like, those will be in the notes, will change the tags with each chapter probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-07-27 16:09:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 82,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7625158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multidimensionallifeform/pseuds/multidimensionallifeform
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suddenly, a new emotion crashed through the fear. It boiled through him, giving him energy he didn’t know was physically possible. His vision snapped back, crystal clear and sharp. He saw his sister’s face. She looked like she was about to cry. She looked like she was trying to stay strong. She looked like she was trying to fix everything in her memory in case she never came back. </p><p>And Lance lost it. </p><p>They will not take his sister, not over his dead body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Days

**Author's Note:**

> FIRST THINGS FIRST: Voltron Legendary Defender belongs to Studio Mir and Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins. 
> 
> OCs:  
> PAWN- fruityrice  
> PITT & XAN- lionbots  
> DEX- the-chewster  
> ALENA- heichousgirl177, kon-elkent  
> KEVIN(?)- klanced  
> SWANKY- y-annah
> 
> ^^^^Go check them out!
> 
> Second things... second? Anyway. I probably switch tenses a million times and I can't look at this anymore so please, just take it, I'm trying my best.  
> Also, if the characters seem slightly ooc; this is an AU. Their situations change, and so do their personalities, slightly, because they're in different circumstances. It shouldn't be that extreme though? I hope it isn't.  
> AND!!! This is all based off of a simulation thing lionbots did, and you can find those posts on their tumblr. (there is a way to hyperlink things. I don't know that way. I apologize for my incompetence.)  
> I would like to say: This is my first fanfic, please, be nice. Please. I'm innocent and unmarked by the wiles of the world. I accept constructive criticism, I welcome it. But please. Be nice. I beg.  
> ANNDDDD!! For the rape/non con tag; it has to do with parents. If you don't want to know it, skip Kevin's POV. Hit me up on tumblr and I'll give you a rundown of their past so you know what's going on. It's not trouble, I promise. 
> 
> #letthemsaydick2k16
> 
> With all that out of the way; Enjoy!

Lance was very familiar with the feeling of fear. Growing up, he had to be. Fear stemmed from his Grandfather ranting angrily, fear that somebody might hear. Fear everyday when somebody left; when he didn’t have them in his _immediate sight_ because they just might never come back. If he couldn’t see them he may never see them again. He couldn’t go through that twice, not after what happened with his father.

He had fear that he’d be hurt, or even worse, somebody else might be. He feared the Capitol. He feared the faceless people in his nightmares.

Naturally, Lance was afraid. His sisters tried to calm him down, but his attention was always everywhere. He couldn’t focus for very long on anything, which made him a bit useless when the rest of the family was trying to work. Lance just _didn’t understand_ the technology everyone else was working on. His District advanced Panem the most, plunging them all forward into new ages with new gadgets and gizmos, but Lance _didn’t get it._

It scared him that he was useless.

His cousins needed watching over, of course. He was good with kids. He could play babysitter. But not when he was older. It wasn’t a real job.

The best he could do for everyone else was take up less space and eat less food. So they could have more. They deserved it more. They needed it more.

Lance wasn’t okay, he could barely make it from day to day (only his sisters, cradling him when he got nightmares and speaking softly when he couldn’t breathe and the world was tilting, talking with him all day and giggling and _smiling_ like the _Sun_ and convincing him that maybe he wasn’t a waste of space kept him going). Lance wasn’t okay, but he was leaving well enough alone.

\--

Lance was tired. He’d had another nightmare last night, and had trouble getting back to sleep because he didn’t want to wake his sisters to help him calm down. They needed sleep. He’d laid on his back, looking at the ceiling through the night and imagined he was looking at stars with his sisters, but they had fallen asleep. He imagined that he was left to his wishes on the sky.

He was confused when his sisters woke him up, though. They never dress up, but they were wearing blue and red and yellow dresses, bows and tied up hair, and were cleaner than he’d seen them in a while. They didn’t look beautiful, though, as much as it pained him to say it, because they all looked upset. Scared.

Lance didn’t know what to do. Usually he was the scared one. What was going on? Was everyone okay? All at once, Lance realized how many people weren’t in the room right then and how many family members he could lose if he didn’t look for them and _what was going on_ -

“Lance, today’s the day. You gotta get ready or Pops will get upset,” his sister said softly. She probably saw the panic in his eyes. He calmed down by the sound of her voice. Today’s the day? Today’s what day? What’s toda-

_Oh._

Lance was struck by a wave of fear so strong he couldn’t breathe. Today was the day of the Reaping. Any one of them could be Reaped. Any one of them could be killed. He may never see his sisters again after today unless it was on TV, watching them being cut down an- _nope nope not going there. Think about something else Lance._

Lance struggled with his thoughts for a moment, forcing them back onto a one-line path. _Like a circut,_ his cousin would say. _Follow the current of the electricity. Point A to Point B_.

Today was the day of the Reaping. He had to get ready and look at least _presentable._ None of them will be Reaped. None of them will die. Nothing to fear, Lance. Nothing to fear.

With that, he took a deep breath and pushed himself out of bed to rummage for some clothes without holes.

\--

He and his sisters hesitated at the same moment when they were made to split up and join their designated groups. He’d leave them. He may never again feel their arms around him or hear their voices talking him down or see them smile at him in a way that filled him with warmth and-

No, Lance. You’re going to see them again. It’s okay. None of you will be Reaped. Nothing to fear. Yeah, nothing to fear. Lance could work with that (there was still a knot of fear in his stomach that was so tight he felt like he needed to throw up but he could pretend, right?).

He smiled at his sisters, and hesitated a moment before saying “I’ll make dinner tonight and we can dance around the living room, all right? See if we can’t get Pops to join.” His sisters visibly relaxed (though not much) (shut _up,_ Anxious Lance). They smiled at him.

“We all know you can’t cook for your life, Lancey. Tell you what, leave dinner to us and you dig out the record player so we have something to dance to,” his sister said. The others smiled more and nodded.

They were going to be okay.

They all held eye contact with each other, then turned, and got to their places in the crowd. Girls on the right, boys on the left.

Lance felt shrunken and intimidated. One kid with long black hair and a red jacket glared at him. His eyes were dark, and Lance was scared. The kid’s brother elbowed him. His older brother was wearing a light red color, and had metal in his face. Was that a piercing? How did he get a piercing? Did he do it himself with a needle and a piece of scrap metal? His hair was shorter than his younger brother’s, who, by the way, was still glaring at him.

Lance moved away from the strange, confusing people, and towards the front of the crowd. His hands were twitching, so he started tapping them nervously against his legs. His entire body tensed up when a lady stepped up onto the stage.

The blood pounding in his ears blocked out whatever she was saying. His brain was running a mile a minute. He couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe _he couldn’t breathe_ -

She reached her hand in the bowl.

Everything stopped. His thoughts. His breathing. His heart. Everything except her hand. She dug around, finally grasping a slip of paper. She drew it up slowly, slowly- and opened it. Her eyes read the name. Her mouth turned up in a smile. Lance could hear over the rushing in his ears for one name-

“Keith Kogane.”

He was okay _he was okay_.

The kid who was glaring at him earlier stalked up to the stage, folding in on himself and hiding behind a curtain of his hair. Lance looked over at Keith’s brother and saw him standing stock still, open mouthed. His hands were reaching out slightly. Lance saw despair in his eyes. And fear. Lance felt bad for him.

But next thing he knew, the lady’s hand was in the bowl again. All at once, the anguish and fear hit him and he didn’t even _attempt_ to hold it back. It drowned him in waves and his vision was going out around the edges and he couldn’t feel his limbs.

_The lady called his sister’s name._

_She was walking up to the stage._

Suddenly, a new emotion crashed through the fear. It boiled through him, giving him energy he didn’t know was physically possible. His vision snapped back, crystal clear and _sharp._ He saw his sister’s face. She looked like she was about to cry. She looked like she was trying to stay strong. She looked like she was trying to fix everything in her memory in case she never came back.

And Lance _lost it._

They will not take his sister, not over his _dead body._

He rushed forward then, darting and ducking his way through the crowd. Everyone looked after him with wide eyes. The guards ran to subdue him. He got to his sister and felt a flash of victory, a second of relief. Nothing to fear nothing to fear _nothing to fear_. The guards tried to pull him away from his sister. He fought them. His other sisters were there. They were all being held by guards. His Reaped sister was looking at all of them in awe and despair, brief flickers of hope, terror, sadness. Lance would not let them take her.

“I volunteer!” The McClain siblings shouted. All of them. There was a deafening silence. Nobody moved, nobody spoke. It was as if the world stood still.

“Well well,” the lady said, “Whatever shall we do here? While I’m glad to see that we have multiple volunteers and that you’re all so _enthusiastic_ to fight in the Games, only one can go up. I believe there are rules for this... Yes! The Capitol states that when there is more than one volunteer, the accepted offer is that of the youngest child.”

The McClain siblings looked at Lance. Lance was shaking. They were all shaking. In that moment, they were afraid. But they were fire. They were burning. They were bright. You could not stop them, in that second. You could not stop them, not if you tried.

“Oh, wait! My apologies children but there simply _must_ be a boy _and_ a girl, so your, erm,   _brother_ will have to step dow-”

“No!” Lance shouted desperately. It echoed through the plaza. Lance held eye contact with the lady. She stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“I _will not_ . The Capitol has had two boys before when the female population was dwindling and the patriarchy had to be sure that they had full harems, the Capitol can do it again, or add me to the harems and _suck my di_ -”

“ _Young man!_ ” The lady said, affronted. Lance could see his sisters out of the corner of his eye. They looked like they would be laughing if they weren’t so scared. They looked at him and he saw fear in their eyes. He wanted to comfort them. They were afraid for him. They didn’t want to lose him. But this? This is what he could do for them. He could take the blow.

The lady continued to stare at him. Tight lipped. Tense. The entire plaza was tense. Nobody moved, nobody talked. The birds had stopped singing, the clouds had stopped rolling. They watched with bated breath at the stare down between Lance and the Capitol lady.

“Come up here, young man.”

Lance walked up to the stage, calmly. He didn’t shake. He didn’t waver. He stepped up the stairs, strolled to stand next to the lady. He saw his sisters, looking at him, horrified. He smiled at them reassuringly. The sister he volunteered for was crying. He saw his mother at the edge of the crowd, sobbing. The lady grabbed his wrist, and lifted his hand above his head, Keith’s on the other side.

“May the odds be _ever in your favour._ ”

Her grip on his wrist cut off his bloodflow.

\--

Lance was caught in a net of arms from his sisters. He was sitting in the room where they allowed him to say his final goodbyes to his family. The fear was twisting in his stomach, but so was his anger. It was enough to keep him going. His sisters were hugging him, and none of them were talking. He knew they were crying. He was glad. They needed to let it out.

“We’ll never get the old record player working without you. How are we gonna dance the night away in the living room?” His sister’s voice was strained. Her throat was filled with tears and her arms were shaking as he hugged him. There was a collective lapse in breathing as they all mourned the reality of the situation.

“Remember the time we got everyone going? Even Pops and his bad back, even our grouchy cousin who never wanted anything to do with anything. We even got him to laugh,” Lance said. He wanted this moment, to think back. His last moment with them, because even if he was coming back, he was coming back a changed person. This was it, and he wanted to spend it not grieving, but happily bonding with his sisters. He wanted to be with them, one last time.

“I remember how when we were all upset after… father… you managed pull us up and away. I remember, we could look at you and see the stars, fly with the clouds,” Lance’s sister said. She was starting to cry, sobbing into his shoulder. Lance was shocked. To his surprise, though, his sisters were nodding. He thought back to when their father had died. They had all been a mess. They all felt six feet underground. He had no idea he had done anything then, he had only thought he was pulling them down, as usual.

“Yeah, I could always look over at you and see your face, light from all the times you’ve smiled, eyes bright with all the stars you stare at, and think, ‘Hey, maybe we can keep going. For him if nothing else.’ And you know, it worked.” Lance’s sister smiled at him. Lance felt his body flushing with happiness, burning through his bloodstream and pulsing with his heart. He smiled back at his sister, then all his sisters. Then they were all smiling at each other, and laughing, and Lance thought, _I get this. I’ll have this. Forever, until the end, I’ll have this, at least. There’s nothing to fear, because I’ll have this._

He sat with his sisters, laughing and chatting and just being together until their time was up. And when the guards walked through the door to collect him, the mood in the room instantly fell. He felt the now-familiar wave of despair and fear. It was so strong it left his limbs shaking. It was possible there were tears in his eyes. Possibly.

His sisters looked at him and he almost couldn’t bear to look in their eyes. They were crying again.

They all took a breath. At the same time. The McClain siblings were about to be split apart. And they were never going to be the same again. It was the end.

Lance went with the guards. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t look back. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t cry.

\--

Once Lance was on the train bound for the Capitol (bound for his death) ( _shut_ **_up_ ** _, Anxious Lance_ ), his fear was enough to cripple him and leave him sobbing on the ground. He was tempted to just _stop_ , but he couldn’t. He had to see his sisters again, his mother, good old Pops. He _had_ to.

In summary, he had an upset stomach.

It was made all the worse by this Keith kid. He wouldn’t stop glaring at Lance, as if he’d done something wrong. Lance was offended. What had he ever done to Broody McEdgelord over here? (That’s right Lance, joke all you can, distract yourself from the world falling down around you) Lance decided the best thing he could do was glare back, because if this kid wanted to compete, _Lance would compete._

“Hello Tributes! Welcome to the train that’ll be taking you to the very heart of Panem; the Capitol! You will meet your Mentor for the Games, she’ll be joining us for dinner tonight, her name is Abra. Right now she’s most likely asleep, but she’ll with us at our meals and be helping you along with your training so that you don’t end up, well, skewered with a spear.” She looked at Lance when she said that last part. He had a bit of a reckoning she didn’t like him very much.

“Please show her proper respect as she is a well-known winner and a revered Mentor. If you pay attention, you might even learn one or two things. You will now be shown to your rooms. May the odds be ever in your favour.”

With that, the lady walked away without a second glance, probably mentally wiping herself free of responsibility for them. She left a cloud of overly sweet perfume in her wake.

**-Keith-**

Keith was doing pushups in his room. It was the best way that he could work off the stress. He liked to think that the anxiety washed out with his sweat. He made himself focus on counting, and absolutely _nothing_ else.

It wasn’t going well, his thought process was somewhere along the lines of:

_108, I’m going to be slaughtered, I’m not going to let myself be slaughtered, 111, Kevin looked so distraught, 113, He’s going to lose the only family he had left, And that’s my fault, 116, The lady’s grip on my wrist felt like a shackle, 118, Why don’t I just jump out the train window, 120, at least the Volunteer kid has a nice face, I won’t have to be stuck with somebody completely awful, 123, Stop thinking about the Volunteer kid Keith, 125, 126, 127, He has blue eyes, 129, He has stars in his eyes, 131, He cares so obviously about his siblings, 133, 134, 135, I am going to die._

Keith hoped the Mentor had some good workouts he could use. He seemed to need something more than pushups.

He stopped at 150 and resigned himself to sitting on the (extremely uncomfortable) bed and watching the world go by outside his window. He allowed his mind to go back to the gadget he was working on back before the Reaping. District 3 was known for technology and their advancements in it, but Keith always liked to make things that were simple. Do this to make this happen. Do that to make that happen. Not complicated, like people or politics. Gadgets didn’t ridicule him. The didn’t make excessive noise that hurt his brain. It was blessed, peaceful, simple silence. Just working and logic.

He let himself get lost in mental blueprints until the summons came for dinner.

Honestly, the train was overdone. The constant clacking of metal on metal was enough to drive him insane, but there was also the rustle of footsteps on carpet and people talking in hushed whispers. It was all loud enough to be a gunshot. The carpets were thick and hard to walk on, and a bright garish shade of red. The walls were covered in ugly paintings that probably had some sort of symbolism he didn’t care to know, and the view outside the window was gone too fast to appreciate.

The Dining Car was especially bad, with candles everywhere and excessive drapes and even more paintings and an extravagant wooden table covered in massive amounts of food. There was a musk in the air that overwhelmed him the moment he stepped in the room, and it made his eyes water. The lady from the Reaping was there, and so was another lady who must be the Mentor.

She looked up and gave him a crooked smile, but it nowhere _near_ reached her eyes. Her eyes looked blank.

He sat down as far from everyone else as he could get, and immediately started stabbing at his food with one of the forks provided. He didn’t make eye contact or acknowledge their presence, because if he didn’t, they weren’t real, right? This wasn’t real, right?

He knew when the Volunteer walked into the room that it couldn’t be real. This kid walked past _all the seats at the table_ to sit _directly next to Keith_.

The kid was joking, right? He turned to look at Keith, eyes starry (ugh, that sounded bad even in his head) and smile light, and said, “Hey, I’m Lance.”

Keith looked at him for a moment before rolling his eyes and going back to stabbing his food. He ignored whatever the crap it was his gut was doing and _persistently_ ignored everyone at the table, and his own thoughts ( _he’s so thin did he even eat back home?_ ). Somebody cleared their throat.

“This is Abra, and, as I said earlier, she will be your Mentor, hopefully she’ll be teaching you enough to get you through the Games. I’m going to give her the opportunity to speak, but you two may start eating as long as you make sure to still pay attention.” Keith heard the train door close with a sound that reverberated in the room, and with that, the Mentor started talking.

“Two boys this year? That’s a shame, we can’t have the greatest love affair of the century, the press _loves_ that.” Her remark was met with silence. Keith’s food was ripped to shreds. He kept stabbing at it.

“I’m going to take a shot in the dark and say none of us want to be here. Too diddly-darn bad for us, cause we’re stuck on this God-forsaken train until we reach the Capitol, which is even worse. So I’m going to cut to the chase. I know both of you low-key want to die, but fundamentally want to survive. I’m your best bet at that, as well as your instincts. Your lives are in my hands, and if you want to make it, I suggest you listen to me as best you can. If we play our cards right, one of you will get out of this.”

Keith looked up at her. Her eyes weren’t so blank anymore. He felt a spark in his gut.

—

They arranged for training to start the next day, so Keith finished dinner quickly and got out of the Dining Car before he could be intercepted by the Volunt- by Lance, again. He could only assume from the twist in his gut that his instincts were saying not to talk to him.

Once he was in his room, Keith tried to read a book, but it didn’t help much. His attention kept wandering off the pages and back to his brother. _With you to the end,_ he had said. _We’ll make it, you and I,_ he had said. _Where are you, Kevin? Where are you. Why are we apart._

Keith didn’t hear the knocks at his door. He didn’t hear the soft “Keith, are you okay? You seemed kind of out of it at dinner.” However, it did suddenly occur to him that there was somebody else in his room with him. “Get _out_ ,” he growled, he didn’t care who it was. He heard the door shut and it was so loud he felt like he’d gone deaf.

He didn’t notice when the ringing stopped. He didn’t notice when the lights turned off. He didn’t notice when he fell asleep.

—

_Kevin was gliding around the house, wiping things with a cloth and humming under his breath, swinging his hips to the tune._

_“Kevin, what are you doing?”_

_Kevin whipped around, his face alight. “Baby Brother! ” Kevin picked Keith up and swung him around a few times, smiling and whistling his tune. Keith was confused._

_“What are you doing?”_

_“I’m singing and dancing, Keith, it makes cleaning the house bearable.” Keith thought about this._

_“Okay, well how? Can you show me?”_

_Kevin laughed again. He seemed so happy. That made Keith happy. Kevin should laugh more. It made him warm._

_Kevin showed him how to dance like he was, how to whistle. Keith spent the rest of the day strolling around the house with him, humming and whistling and dancing with his brother._

_Kevin smiled and didn’t critique when his baby brother was a bit off key, when his dancing was choppy and off-kilter. He laughed and sang with him. He liked seeing his brother’s eyes light up, so alive._

_Kevin would make sure he stayed that way._

—

Keith dreamed of when he was younger. He reveled in the memory in the moment between wakefulness and sleep, but forgot it the second he opened his eyes.

All for the better, really. He didn’t need to remember what he was leaving behind.

**-Shiro-**

Shiro was surprised when his name was called at the Reaping, but he didn’t panic. He wasn’t leaving behind anything. He’d been trained to fight all his life. He was only worried that he’d have to look somebody in the eye and kill them. He truly would rather die himself.

He knew the moment his name left the mouth of the caller that he wasn’t going to win. He’d rather die than kill.

He knew he wasn’t coming back, and he was okay with that. Living in District 1 all your life keeps you privileged, but you’re also close to the Capitol. The politicians and patriarchy of Panem, also known as the Galra, were evil, evil people. What they’d done to him as a child…  He stepped on the train without complaint.

His partner, Allura, was nice. He knew the moment he saw her she could bring him to his knees, as well as the entire arena. She stood tall, proud. And, surprisingly enough, she smiled at him when he made eye contact. Her smile reminded him of the Sun. Her eyes reminded him of the crystals their District sold to the Capitol. Her hair looked like starlight cascading down her shoulders.

He smiled back at her.

They talked with each other at dinner, after their Mentor was done schooling them. She had a crisp sort of accent, and she turned, well, the only word for it was _bright_ , when she excited. It was refreshing. Shiro decided that in a world full of shallow people and two-dimensional emotions, she was an outlier of the greatest fashion.

When he went to sleep that night it felt like he had fallen into water, and waking up it felt like he’d broken the surface, taking a breath of fresh air and time coming back from it’s slow-down.

Because these were his last days he wanted to spend them in comfort. That’s why he put on the most comfortable looking clothes he could find in the closet and didn’t brush his hair or take a cold shower, like usual. He was giving himself a break, not like anybody cared anyway.

When he got to the Dining Car, he padded to a chair and starting loading on the food. No diets, no cares. If he wanted potatoes, he would have potatoes, okay? He was a dying man, at least let him have his potatoes in peace.

When his Mentor came into the room, he knew peace was out the window. His Mentor looked around sharply, before his gaze landed on Shiro eating his potatoes.

“Where is the second Tribute? She needs to be here for us to start, and we need to start. There’s no time to waste.”

Shiro just shrugged, and hoped Allura would take her time. Not only to spite their Mentor, but also because he wanted to finish his potatoes (don’t judge him, they were _really good_ potatoes). His Mentor grumbled, whether at Shiro’s lack of response or Allura lack of punctuality he didn’t know.

When Allura finally swept into the room with twirling skirts and a fierce look on her face, Shiro’s mood picked up a little, even if it meant that he was now running on limited time for his meal. Because Allura was _shining,_ her smile was both wicked and soft at the same time, she moved with a deadly grace. Shiro couldn’t help but love being in her presence, she calmed him down while exuberating him. He hadn’t felt anything close to this in _years._ It was honestly pretty liberating. Shiro appreciated it, whatever it was,

Allura promptly sat down without so much as looking at their Mentor or addressing her lateness, only shooting a smile at Shiro before loading her plate with strange looking green goo and some salad (Shiro was confused, but to each his own?).

Near the end of breakfast Allura still hadn’t addressed anything, and the Mentor was practically fuming. Shiro had to suppress a laugh. Allura kept grabbing seconds so the meal didn’t have to end, and Shiro figured- _why not_ ? And joined her. She gave an amused glance to him when he reached for seconds, and they shared a conspirative look before piling _loads_ of food onto their plates. Shiro could see Allura’s shoulder shaking in silent laughter, and it made him smile. They each ate slowly and watched the progression of their Mentor’s anger, going from fuming to volcanic.

He finally lost his patience.

“Tributes! Are you going to take this seriously? This is your _lives_ on the line!”

Shiro had to laugh. “Really? Cause I don’t think we’re in all that much danger.” Allura snickered through her food.

Their Mentor was red in the face. “It’s an attitude like that that’s going to get you killed! I’m trying to _help_ you! You should be _thanking_ me!”

Shiro looked him in the eye. He could tell he was freaking out their Mentor a little. So he smiled. “What would you have us do to prepare us for the games that we can’t do already? Cause I’ll do it right here, right now so you will _finally_ give me peace to eat my potatoes.” Allura was cackling.

Their Mentor spluttered. Shiro didn’t break eye contact. “That’s what I thought.” And then he shoveled a few bites of potato in his mouth, because _he deserved it._ Allura hadn’t stopped laughing, and Shiro’s heart was singing from the fact that he’d made her smile.

He knew his last days might not be too bad.

**-Hunk-**

Hunk didn’t know what to do when he was Reaped. When he heard his name called, he just froze like a deer. He had no siblings who would volunteer for him, not that he’d want them to. He was stuck in this situation. It was slightly surreal. He thought to himself, _surely this isn’t happening._ But the guards grabbed his arms and tugged him down the pathway and he felt the bite of metal and his muscles moving and thought, _it can’t be anything BUT real._ With that realization, the breath left his lungs.

He’d skipped out on Career training his whole life, instead opting to help his family with the masonry business. If he ever expressed any anxiety about the Games, his aunt would just pat him on the head (even when he grew taller than her) and tell him “You’re a strong, brave boy. They’ll never take you down. Besides, you won’t be Reaped. Now get back to work on that granite or we’ll be eating dinner late.”  

His aunt was right, he _was_ strong, but strength wasn’t enough to make it in the Games. He couldn’t pin his survival on the strength he’d gotten from working with stone all these years. He knew that. His vision was going out as the guards dragged him up the stairs.

The worst thing? He couldn’t kill. Hunk knew one thing for absolute sure, and it was that he loved his family. Also that he wasn’t a killer. Because he wasn’t. He couldn’t end somebody’s life. As he stood on that stage overlooking a solemn crowd, with his hand raised in the air above his head and his family crying at the fringes of the plaza, breath short and eyes unseeing, he realized he would have to become a murderer. Kill or be killed.

He felt a wave of disgust.

If it was kill or be killed, then he’d have to grit his teeth and face the latter.

\--

Hunk still felt somewhat detached from what was going on around him. _At least the food’s good,_ he thought to himself at dinner. He could appreciate good food, until he barfed it up, that is.

He could also appreciate the train’s design. It was fast and aerodynamic, but quiet. How did the tracks and train meet in order for that combination? Not to mention, it must be heavy with such big cars and all the furniture and people, so how did it propel itself so quickly? How much waste was being produced by the train?

Quite simply, he was fascinated by the design and it got him through the day to think about how it might work. The distraction stopped working when he figured it all out. It really was obvious in the end. He resigned himself to sleep.

His bed was extremely comfortable, but that was the problem. There was no support. The Capitol people were so impractical, Hunk had to laugh. Hunk had to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. Maybe if he kept laughing he’d be happy again. He missed his family. He wanted to hug them, and work all day with them. He wanted to be back by their sides, not caught in a metal box speeding towards his inevitable death with a bunch of strangers.

Hunk laughed, not because his situation was funny, but because his situation was hopeless, and laughing was all he could do to keep his head above the water.

\--

His laughter had died out by the time they were forced to go to dinner. Hunk was in awe of all the food on the table, there were so many _choices_ and they all looked so _lavish_ and _delicious._ Hunk wanted to eat all of it.

Then he saw the green goo and some mushy brown stuff.

Hunk wanted to eat _most_ of it.

He situated himself in a chair and started serving himself some of the food that looked the most appetizing, all while wondering why the man from the Reaping hadn’t said anything, why he was just sitting there.

“The other Tribute’s a bit… _young,_ don’t you think?” The man spoke up, quietly. Hunk almost didn’t hear him. When he realized he _had,_ he spit out his food.

“A bit _young?_ Are you _kidding_ me? We’re _all_ ‘a bit young’! We’re children for God’s sake! Literally _none_ of us should be here, and you have the _gall_ to sit there and ponder about some kid cause they’re _short_ ? Or was it the big eyes that got you? Hey, maybe it was the glasses, or the unruly head of hair? Is that all it takes to give you people _souls_ again, cause if so, _stop murdering the population of children_ , and look at their _heartwarming_ , _starved_ , _suffering_ faces instead! Hey, maybe you’ll _get_ something out of it!”

Hunk didn’t know when he had stood up. Hunk didn’t know when he had left the room. Hunk found himself back in a too-comfortable bed that he couldn’t sleep in, looking at the ceiling of the train and wondering how he got _here,_ of all places. Why wasn’t he working in the shop with his Dad, or cooking with Mom and Auntie May? Why wasn’t he out in the world he _knew_ existed, _somewhere,_ why wasn’t he there, with friends and something to live for? An easy smile and a happy laugh?

He heard light footsteps passing outside his door.

There was literally only _one person_ on the train that it could be.

He pushed himself out of the bed and went to go follow his fellow Tribute, but not before slipping on a yellow hoodie. The train felt dark and cold and lonesome, he needed _something._

He padded out into the hallway and down the corridors. He had a pretty solid idea on where the Tribute was headed. Going through one more train door confirmed his suspicions.

The Dining Car had a big table, and the single figure sitting at it looked particularly dwarfed. Hunk noticed they also were reaching for some of the cold leftovers from dinner. Hunk was already exasperated by them.

He moved to the wall and ordered some more food from the panel that the cooks left open at all times in case somebody needed a “healthy” snack. He got some semblance of a good meal for the kid (oh who was he kidding, he got a masterpiece of a dish and could only hope his efforts would be appreciated) and brought it over to the table, dropping it in front of the Tribute’s face.

They looked up at Hunk and seemed confused. Mostly tired.

“Why’d you make me a dish…?”

“Why are you awake at this hour of the morning is the more appropriate question here,” Hunk said, yawning widely. The Tribute grinned, and it looked downright _wicked._

“Sleep is for the weak. I’m Pidge, since we ought to know each other’s names and all,” Pidge stated, digging into the meal with a gusto Hunk supposed only short, sleep deprived people could.

“I’m Hunk, and I refuse to make any sort of accomplice out of you until you develop a _regular sleep schedule._ ”

“You were up too,” Pidge pointed out, gesturing with their fork.

“You’ve got me there. These beds are just too comfortable.” Pidge laughed at Hunk’s comment.

“I know what you mean. None of this is practical. It would be of much better use if they just added some support to the bedframe, and like _six_ more springs in the mattress. They could even use _shaped aluminum,_ so no level of comfort would be _lost_ , only _gained_ by the added structure.” Pidge said it all through a mouthful of food, and their face started to look sheepish once they were done. They were embarrassed for the tangent. Hunk decided _against_ letting them get away with that.

“Right dude? And I was thinking roughly the same sort of thing for these chairs, they’re made so much more for lounging and comfort and _not at all_ for eating. They need to be straight backed, and maybe instead of leather and feathers they could’ve used, like, vinyl over a padded base, so much more for the structure side of things.” By the end Pidge had turned their head to look at Hunk, astonished.

But not by the fact that _he_ was smart, no, from what Hunk could tell, Pidge was surprised because he was _smart._

Hunk felt bad for the kid. Not many people could probably keep up with them in conversation through the years.

Guess he’d have to change that.

Pidge’s wicked grin slowly grew back on their face, a glint developed in their eye.

The two talked the night away.

**-Pidge-**

Pidge was used to the gender-normativity found in Panem. They honestly didn’t know whether they’d be in the boy’s or girl’s Reaping bowl, or if they should be on the boy’s or girl’s side of the plaza. Heck, Pidge didn’t even know if they were a girl or a boy. It was best when they were neither, it was safer to be neither. _Pidge felt best when they were just neither._  Hearing “He” or “She” just stressed them out. Them. Easy. Simple. Vague. Safe. Familiar. Somewhere deep down: Right.

Pidge stuck to the edges of the girl’s side of the plaza, just in case they were in the Reaping bowls as a boy. Not that they’d be picked, no, that’s a ridiculous assumption. There were easily _thousands_ of slips of paper in the Reaping bowls, and the thought that Pidge would be picked was simply absurd.

Pidge prepared themself to space out as the ceremony began, already thinking about another gadget they could make out of scrap metal to help them and their mom get by without doing much masonry. That’s how Pidge helped the house. Their mother was sick and tired couldn’t really work, so it was up to Pidge to do what they could.

When their name was suddenly proclaimed to the entire square, Pidge froze. All their thought processes froze. It felt like everything froze. _WhatdoyoumeanIhavetogototheGameswhataboutmomshecan’tprovideforherselfandhowamIgonnasurviveI’msmallandcan’tstandtemperaturesbeneath60degreesFarenheitwhatwhatwhatwaitno._

Pidge was dragged by guards up to the stage. They immediately searched for their mother on the sides of the plaza. She looked more pale than usual. She looked tense. Her hands were raised slightly, as if she wanted to take hold of Pidge and keep them close to her forever. Pidge could only think about how she would have no one to take care of her. Pidge remembered something that she said about Pidge having a father and brother that worked on building trains and were shipped off to another District… Lot of good their family is doing them now. They should be here, for mom, _for Pidge._

Pidge’s arm was raised in the air and Pidge’s mom was crying and Pidge could only look at the distant forest landscapes and imagine freedom. Imagining themself as a lion, running through the trees, far, far away from everything.

_“May the odds be ever in your favour!”_

\--

When Pidge got on the train they went directly to their room (of course they knew where to find their room, they weren’t an idiot) and fell down on the bed. The pillows floofed around them and they just rolled themself up in a blanket, closed their eyes, and breathed evenly. _In, out. In, out. In, out._

Pidge imagined themself as a lion running through the forest, and didn’t open their eyes. Pidge didn’t belong in this world. This world was ones and twos. This world was civilians and government. This world was black and white. This world was people and gods. But Pidge? Pidge was a decimal, Pidge was a vigilante, Pidge was green, Pidge was a _lion_.

Pidge didn’t fit where they were put. They imagined themself in a place where they belonged until they were forced out to dinner by their growling stomach.

They put on a neon green shirt before leaving the room.

**-Lance-**

The train finally arrived at the Capitol, and they were about to meet the _other_ Tributes. Not that he’d really met any yet, Keith still refused to so much as make eye contact with him. Frankly, it was disquieting. He still didn’t understand what he’d done to upset the guy, but the only thing he could do from there was try to get him to like him, or compete with him until the bitter end _because Lance had to beat him if it’s the last thing he di_ \- or maybe no thoughts about death.

His thought pattern had been running _wild_ the past couple of days. The steady clacking of train on track was enough to keep him sane, he could focus on it, but he really needed more than just a little bit of white noise to completely focus.

Lance wasn’t sure he’d ever completely focused in his life, but still.

So he was excited to meet other Tributes (he’d also be excited to _not die, thanks_ ) (oh great, Anxious Lance is _sarcastic_ now that’s just _wonderful_ -) and see what their personalities were like. Maybe he could form alliances? He began to think about the strategic advantages of that but he didn’t get very far. Forward thinking wasn’t exactly his strong point. He could hardly stay on one line of thought for 10 seconds anymore, his anxiety and stress were spiking and he couldn’t think clearly _at all._ Maybe if he had _friends_ or somebody to _talk to_ (like his sisters) (nope nopenopenopenopenope Lance _do not think about them_ ) then he’d be able to calm down, but since _Keithy Buddy_ over here seemed to think Lance was a _vampire_ or some other crap, that was out of the books.

Except for right now. Because they were going to meet the other Tributes and Lance might have a chance among these kids. He was practically buzzing as the Mentors explained the training room to them, he couldn’t sit still.

Once the Tributes were finally ( _finally_ ) excused to go train, Lance lept up and looked around for somebody he wanted to talk to first. He needed potential allies who were skilled, but also good people. He needed capable, he needed kind.

The first pair that really caught his eye were two tall, gangly kids wearing loose clothing who had an obvious color tint to their skin. Just _what_ had the Capitol fed these people? Lance walked up to them to say hi, ask what district, make conversation. They just stared at him. Lance tried a smile. Their eyes made him feel uneasy. He could see they were from District 10, and tried bringing that up. Neither of them spoke to him, their mouths were twisted strangely and they seemed confused and calculating at the same time. Lance didn’t know how they pulled _that_ off, but _they did_ . They didn’t seem too keen on talking any time soon. He turned on his heel and walked away, feeling a bit dejected. This might be harder than he thought. In a couple days he’d be fighting to the death with these people, what _was he even doing he should be-_

“Bro, you trying to talk to Pitt and Xan? They speak a different language you know, so does Swanky- Mr.Sharp over there. They’re learning English I think, but for now conversing with them is kind of a dead end.”

Lance turned around to see who was informing him of this inconvenient language barrier, because surely they had to be nice if they caught on to him feeling poorly _and_ came over to help. The sight Lance was granted with as he turned around was an amazing one.

He saw a large Tribute who seemed to be from District 2, wearing mostly yellow clothes and had dark brown skin, black hair, and a smile on his face. Lance would swear he was seeing the Sun itself, he was so bright and happy and warm. Lance had the strong instinct to hug him, but felt that would be crossing a line.

But maybe later.

The Tribute stuck his hand out, “I’m Hunk, District 2, Masonry.” His smile didn’t waver. Lance was in awe.

“I’m L-Lance, District 3, uh, babysitting mostly?” Hunk chuckled at Lance’s response. Lance felt honest-to-goodnessly _starstruck_ by this Tribute.

“You look sorta lost right now, buddy, wanna come train with me and Pidge?”

Lance just nodded and followed Hunk toward a section of the training room that was working on plant identification and specification. Lance felt a little lost looking up at the screen, but quickly realized he knew a lot of the healing plants. He’d needed to for when one of his little cousins got hurt. He felt less lost the more he looked at the screen, with his brain _finally_ starting to concentrate a little, now that he was around busy people in a room and Hunk had a hand on his shoulder and his stress levels were lowering.

“Lance, this is Pidge, the other Tribute from District 2. Pidge, Lance,” Hunk introduced them. Lance pulled his eyes away from the screen to see a short kid staring at it hypnotically. He could see the lights reflecting off his glasses. “A lot of the districts have two boys this year… I don’t know why I had to fight to get in,” Lance muttered. Apparently not quietly enough. Pidge stiffened significantly and Hunk turned to him quickly, making a confused and surprised sound. Lance took note of Pidge’s uncomfort and filed it away to think about when Hunk wasn’t asking questions.

“What do you mean ‘fight to get in’? Do you _want_ to be here?” Hunk looked slightly disgusted.

The thought of Hunk being disgusted by him sent a shot of ice to his core. Lance never really had friends besides his sisters, and he’d gone so long without human connection… not to mention Hunk seemed to be a legitimate angel sent from Heaven and a blessing to all those he gazed upon. Lance also felt unsettled by the fact that _anyone_ could _want_ to be in the Games, let alone that _he_ would.

“No no no no no no, I volunteered to take the place of my sister, but my other sisters were also volunteering and I _couldn’t_ let them suffer the Games so I had to be _sure_ I was the one that got picked and I ended up telling the Capitol lady that the government officials could suck my di-”

He was cut off by Hunk’s laugh. A wave of comfort and happiness shot through him at the sound; it was so calming, and he felt proud that he’d gotten Hunk to laugh, and relieved he hadn’t managed to mess up his first friendship already. Hunk clapped him on the shoulder again.

“Respect, man. Both for the brave move of volunteering for your siblings, and for telling the government to suck your d-”

“Can we stop talking about sex, please and thank you,” Came a sudden voice. Lance turned to see Pidge, mildly irritated and standing ramrod straight. His movements were jerky as he manipulated the screen, his face was twisted. Lance thought for a moment about how he could’ve made Pidge upset; it couldn’t be the ‘fight to get in part’ because he just explained himself for that. It had to have been the ‘Two boys’ comment. Which meant-

Oh.

_Oh._

One of Lance’s sister’s friends acted like this once when Lance called him a her. He’d since learned a lesson or two about gender. He’d questioned his own for a while. Pidge… was he a she? Lance thought back to what his sisters had told him to do in such a situation. He hesitated a moment before addressing Pidge, thinking about the best way to go about this.

“Hey Pidge, can I, uh, talk to you in private, for a minute?”

Pidge turned... his? Her? Their. Pidge turned their head to look at Lance, and there seemed to be a bit of fire behind hi- _their_ gaze.

“Sure.”

They walked over to a part of the room where nobody would hear them talk. Pidge’s body language was guarded and he- _they_ were obviously feeling uncomfortable and threatened, but also mad. Lance sighed. He’d already dug his grave, now he needed to try and make his bed, or something like that.

“Look, I erm, agh.” He scratched the back of his head. He didn’t know how to go about this. Pidge was smirking evilly. He couldn’t see past their glasses lenses. “Pidge I just- uhm.” He dropped his face into his hands and told his mind to go on a one track path. Nothing to fear, nothing to fear, take the plunge. He only had to ask, to try and get rid of the animosity. Making people uncomfortable was one of the things Lance felt the worst about. In a world where the only thing he could do was validate other people’s existence, doing the opposite put him out of place and made him feel like he was falling and falling. He didn’t want to do _anything_ to _anyone_ that made them feel bad. Not to mention, from what he’d heard from his sister’s friend, people with gender issues already have it really hard. He wanted to do what he could to make sure Pidge felt comfortable, at least around him, because what else could he _do_ in this world? Because what else had Pidge been _denied_ in this world?

He could do this. He had to do this. For Pidge, if nothing else.

He looked up at Pidge. “What are your pronouns?” He asked, quietly, hesitantly.

Pidge looked genuinely shocked. Their glasses were starting to reflect less light and Lance could see hi- _their. Their their their._ Their eyes were brown They looked honestly shaken, and their eyes were going glossy. Lance was starting to panic, worried he’d made a mistake and made Pidge feel worse.

“Hey look, buddy- sorry I presumed things can we ju-”

“Nobody’s ever asked me that before,” Pidge said, voice filled with wonder. Huh. Huh? That was just outrageous. People should _respect_ other people, and it’s easy to tell when somebody isn’t comfortable and everyone in this society is just as _real_ and _valid_ as the other and presuming such big things about them is _poisonous_ to everyone and _really_ it isn’t that hard to just be _nice_ to other people, and somebody with _gender crap_ going down in their heads should be just as loved and respected as everyone else and _since when have I been talking out loud._

Lance really needed to get over his habit of rambling when gets nervous. Pidge just looked at him, and there was such a big smile on their face, Lance was afraid it would split in half. Pidge looked- _happy._

“I feel so… _free._ They/them, Lance. I go by they/them and that _feels so good to say._ ” And then Pidge was laughing (because they felt such strong emotions inside they needed a way to get them out) and Lance was starting to laugh with them because it’s _so good_ when people are happy and it’s _so good_ when people are laughing and it’s _so good_ when Lance makes people happy and laugh and honestly, laughing is infectious, and he was gonna die in a couple of days, so why _not?_

So, Lance and Pidge stood there and laughed with each other, feeling real and free and alive. _There is good somewhere in the world and I feel a lot of it resides in this child’s laugh,_ Lance thought merrily. He and Pidge couldn’t stop laughing. It was relieving.

**-Keith-**

The training center they threw all the Tributes in was a big and dark room, filled wall to wall with equipment to prepare them for the Games. Keith was a bit overwhelmed by the complexity of it all, with so many people in the big room at the same time and so many things going on at once and constant chatter and echoes and bangs and just-

He avoided looking at anyone and went to the quietest training site he could find in the room. He scanned the screen and the rules before tugging a sword off the wall and walking into the simulator.

He could lose himself in the steady motion of taking down the drones one by one. He could clench his fists and sweat out the stress.

He slowly let his brain slide into training mode, his last conscious thought was “ _Finally, no more thinking._ ” After that, everything was action and reaction, the pull of his muscles and the slash of the sword, the glowing eyes of the drones and the metal of their bodies being cut in half before rebuilding back into a fighter-bot.

When he came out of the simulation, drenched in sweat and breathing hard, the cacophony of noises in the room was easier to deal with. His brain had calmed down.

He had no idea how long he’d been in there with the drones. When he heard someone approaching him, he sporadically figured he could go train longer, and promptly turned to reenter the simulation.

A hand on his arm stopped him, and he tensed up under the touch. He whipped around, batting the hand away and bringing his sword up in one motion. He was breathing heavily again, and was ready to-

“Hey, Baby Brother.”

Keith froze.

“Figured you’d be happier to see me,” Kevin smirked. Keith was still frozen.

_Kevin?_

_How did_ Kevin _get here?_ He was wearing a Tribute’s uniform, _did that mean he was going to participate in the Games?_ How did he even get Reaped from District, uh, 12? Why did he have a District 12 Tribute uniform?

Keith hadn’t stopped staring at Kevin, feeling conflicted between awe, horror, and relief. Kevin was here with him! But _Kevin was here with him. How_ did _Kevin_ get here with him?

Kevin smirked more, struck a cocky pose and said, “You’re probably wondering how I got here.” Keith nodded mutely at his brother. His brain couldn’t keep up with the situation. What was going on? Why was Kevin here? He didn’t want Kevin to be here, as much as we wanted to be around Kevin, because if Kevin was here then Kevin would be playing in the Games and if Kevin was playing in the Games he might _die._ He _really_ didn’t want Kevin to die.

Keith realized Kevin was looking at him now with a look he had learned was concern.

“I know you want to talk, because you always do, you’re _such_ a chatterbox, but we’ve gotta talk to my partner from the coal-mining-hell we call a District before going any further with this conversation.”

Keith took a deep breath and nodded. He shoved his sword back on the wall and followed his brother across the room. He was careful to keep his eyes directly ahead and pointedly _did not think_ about _anything_.

Kevin stopped before somebody wearing the District 12 Tribute uniform, but Keith wasn’t convinced he was a Tribute, let alone from District 12. He was tall enough to tower over everyone, and looked slightly blue in the lighting. It was almost like his brain was playing tricks on him, but every feature of him was sharp, even his smile. It made him look wicked.

He spoke in harsh sounds with Kevin, and Keith could only assume it was a language. It was strange, because as rough as it sounded, the letters rolled together in a lilting pattern that felt like you were in the ocean during a thunderstorm.

Keith was so caught up in his imaginings he didn’t notice when both his brother and the tall Tribute had stopped talking to look at him.

“Keith,” his brother’s voice was hushed, “Swanky here has a language translator so that you can understand what we’re saying. It connects to your ear and intercepts brainwaves, and has a mic so you can speak, too. Would you be okay if I hooked you up?” Keith was quiet, considering.

“Sure, okay.”

The conversation they were about to have was probably going to be intense, if it had to be communicated in a different language.

Once he was hooked up with the technological translator, Shark Boy turned to fully face him. This close, Keith could tell this kid was _tall_. Sharky glowered at him, and even though Keith probably should have been intimidated, his gut was telling him there was really no threat here.

“You’re shorter than most of these gnomes,” Sharky said. Keith wanted to laugh.

“You’re taller than most of us gnomes,” He responded.

Sharky smirked, and held out a hand, saying “I’m Swanky, District 12, revolution planner and all around genius.”

Keith didn’t shake Swanky’s hand, but understood, abruptly, why Kevin was here (though he was still unsure as to how he _got_ here).

It occurred to Keith that possibly all of them would get out of this. It occurred to Keith that if they successfully pulled off this “revolution”, this could be the end of an era, and not everyone would have to die. Not him and Kevin. Not Lance- Lance could go back to his family. They could _all_ go back to their families. He felt the spark from before rising up in him again, this time burning differently, brighter, into a _fire_.

He wanted to pull this off, not only for him and Kevin, but for everyone else in this room. He looked at Swanky, who was standing with his hands on his hips and a confident grin (Kevin was mirroring him). He looked at them and asked, “So, what do we do?

**-Haxus-**

Haxus wasn’t worried about the Games. He was naturally strong, and fearless, and the rest of the Tributes looked like legless whelps. His best friend, Sendak, had been Reaped for the Games, and as an unspoken rule between the two, Haxus had volunteered. The Reaper almost turned him down for his gender, but one look at him and Sendak and they were off to the Capitol on a train.

He and Sendak had been secretly training for the games their whole lives. Working in the lumber industry in District 7 leaves you good with an axe, at least. Sendak excelled at fistfights, though, having trained on the kids around the forest.

“I’m the artist,” he always said, “They are the canvas, and I color them purple and black.”

Haxus couldn’t help but look up to him, he had brute force and surprising cunning behind him. Back when they were kids, there had been an incident regarding cut down trees, loose topsoil, and unsteady rock mountains. Sendak had lost his right eye. Even being in one of the poorer Districts, he didn’t let that stop him. He bullied some wimpy, nerd-type kids into getting him fixed up with a replacement. Sendak let nothing stop him or derail him from his goal, and Haxus admired that about him. Haxus admired everything about him.

Theirs was a terse friendship, mostly nods and glares and glances and orders, but Sendak couldn’t deny that they made a good team. Sendak was unbeatable without Haxus, but unstoppable with him.

So when they got Reaped, it was no question really that they’d end up together and win the Games. Three step plan:

  1. Get in the Games
  2. Win the Games
  3. Profit



Because they _would_ profit. Spend the rest of their lives living luxuriously in the Capitol. What more could a person want? They’d have glory, they’d have money, respect, power. The list goes on. Haxus knew they had nothing to worry about really, not against this bunch of Tributes.

Except for District 5. They might run into a problem from those two. Why, you ask? Well, you see, growing up, it hadn’t _always_ been just him and Sendak. There had also been Zarkon and Haggar. Those two were best friends and the undoubted leaders of the group. They’d been transferred to District 5 when they showed prevailing skills in the electricity market instead of lounging in the forest all day. They’d never really seen each other again.

But here they were, Zarkon and Haggar, Tributes in the Games, just the same and Sendak and Haxus. Haxus was worried about the problem they presented. He knew that beating them separately would be possible, but not if those two stayed together.

The moment the Mentors allowed them to go off on their own to train, Sendak got up without a word and stalked over to Zarkon and Haggar. Haxus followed him without hesitation. No words were exchanged between the four as they all set off for the same training center. This was why they worked so well; there was no question as to who was in charge, they were all so like minded, and where one lacked, even a little, somebody else picked up.

They broke the record for the highest score in the training room.

**-Matt-**

The worst day of Matt’s life was when he was spirited away from his home and his family to go work in District 8 because the workforce was weak and he and his father fit the description of eligible laborers. They had been shipped off, away from his sickly mother and younger sister. Matt thought he’d never see them again, and despaired every day afterwards.

The second worst day of Matt’s life was the day he was called for Reaping, because he knew he was going to die. He’d always held some hope that hey, maybe _someday_ he’d see his family again. But now, it would be the other way around. His family would see him. Being slaughtered. Maybe not the most pleasant thought.

He’d walked proudly up the stage when he heard his name called, and his only calming thought had been that his father was retiring soon and would be sent home to Mother. They could comfort each other over his death. His father could talk to Pidge all day and read her stories at night. Knowing his family was going to be happy and was going to survive had kept him on the train. Shay, his fellow Tribute, had similar familial problems. Shay was a girl who’d stepped in for her sister, saying family was the most important thing and she couldn’t let her little sister suffer the Games. The Reaper didn’t dare defy Shay’s death stare.

Shay and Matt comforted each other on the train by telling one another stories. Of family, of friends, of hope, of faraway lands and knights in shining armour. In the end, it was, of course, ridiculously childish, but they both needed it. People in Panem grew up too fast.

His Worst Days list (and his mental health) had been fairly sound, until the very moment Matt stepped into the training room. His eyes had instantly scanned to see who he would be facing, who his opponents were, and he felt any confidence he held dwindling by the minute.

And then he saw her.

 _His sister_ . It _had_ to be her, it had to be, the two of them looked exactly alike, and he could see the birthmark on her cheek. Reality hit him like 4 tons of steel; His sister was _there_ , and she might probably _die_.

Matt’s hands started twitching. He wanted to go up to her, say hi, hug her. He wanted to catch up. He wanted to wrap her in a blanket and take her away from the ugly bloodbath of the Arena. He could do none of these things. It was likely she didn’t even _remember_ him.

The Mentors released them to their own devices. Matt kept an eye on his sister even as he went to a different part of the room for training. He picked a semi-mundane skill to train, one he’d learned long ago. He needed a task he only had to use half a brain for so he could keep an eye on Pidge. She was right now the #1 priority, but he still needed to keep up appearances of trying so the Mentors wouldn’t hound him.

He watched like a hawk as a lanky stranger with a jittery attitude and an easy smile approached the station Pidge was at. The large yellow Tribute that Pidge had been spending time with was leading the stranger. He watched Pidge stiffen at something the stranger said. His hands were now shaking too much to be doing anything productive, and his blood ran hot.

Matt dropped the project he was working on and started to get up so he could run over there and bring this stranger _down._ He didn’t trust him, so yeah, call Matt overprotective, but Pidge was his little sister and he would ensure her safety. _No matter what._

He stood up like he’d been electrified when Pidge walked into a secluded corner with the stranger- _what was she doing?_ Matt made his way over towards the corner, steps determined and face fierce, ready to put an immediate stop to anything the stranger tried to pull on her.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Pidge start to laugh. And laugh. The stranger was laughing too. They both looked like they were drowning in complete happiness. Pidge was holding her stomach and the stranger was _doubled over,_ they were both laughing so hard. It was the most weighted sound in the world, these laughs. His blood cooled down at the sight of a smile on his sister’s face, so big it looked like she might never stop smiling.

Matt stood where he was, letting his heart beat calm itself from the race it’d started the moment he saw his sister. A hand on his shoulder was enough to make it spike _right_ back up there, though.

Matt felt adrenaline shoot through his body as he jumped roughly 6 feet in the air. His glasses were askew. He couldn’t see the stranger that had just so _violently attacked him_ , he could only a yellow form of _something._ The tribute was laughing, and it was a warm, jolly sound. Matt adjusted his glasses so he could actually see what was going on.

His sister and the stranger had come up to stand with the yellow Tribute, who was from District 2, it looked like. And the stranger was from District 3. 2 was looking at him strange, and almost seemed confused by his presence.

“Did you want the plant study center? Because if so we can leave and you can set up here…” 2 let the sentence drag off. Matt didn’t know how to explain what he was doing without revealing the fact that Pidge was his sister. And he didn’t want to   drop a bomb like that in a group of people she’d only known for a few days.

Matt just mumbled out an excuse like, “I couldn’t read the sign from over where I was,” and stumbled back to his previous section of the room, made specifically for doing completely mundane tasks while questioning your life’s choices.

**-Shiro-**

After the first day of getting used to the training room and its facilities (as well as its other occupants), Shiro felt a bit more at ease where he was. Sure, he realized the seconds were counting down to the moment he’d step into the Arena, but he also knew he could handle anything thrown at him by the Galra at this point.

He’d stuck with Allura the first day, going between exercising and fight simulations and trivia. General preparation. Shiro knew how to tie 15 more knots than he did yesterday. Allura had laughed and her eyes had dazzled. The light bounced off her dark skin, making her look both perfectly at home where she was and completely out of place in the sense of otherworldliness.

When he’d said he felt he had no motivation for training all day, she’d made a competition out of it.

“So, that means I can do more pushups than you.”

“That’s not what I said, Allu-”

“But it’s what I heard,” She flashed a wicked smile.

Shiro had learned that day never to go head to head against Allura, and he also learned that Allura could beat him at nearly anything, even arm wrestling. She had faster reaction times and made better decisions, she handled a blade expertly and could knock you out with close to no effort. Shiro found it exciting to compete against her, trying his best to match her pushup for pushup, even just to see that challenging, yet impressed look on Allura’s face when he managed to keep up.

Near the end of the day, they’d approached a simulator at the same time as a different pair of Tributes, who looked moderately apprehensive. One was tall, with styled red hair and bright eyes, and the other had multicolored hair, pastel shades of red, yellow, blue and green, and were short but lithe. They seemed to be from District 4.

Shiro noticed the subtle change in Allura’s demeanor, and was downright _shocked_ when she asked if they wanted to go into the simulator as a group. The other Tributes looked surprised, but the redhead warily accepted the offer.

By the time the four of them had exited the simulator, they were laughing together with an easy sense of camaraderie. Coran and Mice were good fighters and hard workers. Coran had cracked jokes that made Shiro laugh on more than one occasion. Mice had a strong arm despite their small body.

He and Allura were in agreement that they would be good training partners at least, if not good allies in the end when they were together in the Arena. Although Coran reminded him of a strawberry and Mice was, well, mousy, Shiro could tell they had potential, and Allura had come to the same conclusion.

Shiro asked her that night how she knew they would be good to have around when she invited them into the simulator. She only smiled and said, “With hair like that? We couldn’t go wrong with those two.” At that, she spun and walked down the hallway towards her room, and Shiro wondered whether he had seen her clench her fists at her sides, or if his brain had created an image of having her do so.

Shiro thought, at first, that he couldn’t have seen what he thought. Allura was always, well, strong and unbreakable. She had _composure._ She wouldn’t let her fists clench. So did that mean it was involuntary?

Shiro knew it was insensitive, but he thought there was no way that Allura would be shaken by _anything,_ let alone some training partners that they had picked up out of nowhere, or her reasons for doing so.

He almost followed her to her room to see if she was all right, but it was possible he was overthinking a hand gesture. Of course Allura was stressed. They were all stressed. The situation they were in was cause for some _bad mental problems_ , the fact that Allura had any composure _at all_ was a wonder in and of itself, and told you just how strong she was.

Shiro knew he would be there for her when she needed help. Shiro knew when to stay away even if she did need help, because even though she needed it, it would only make it worse if he gave it.

Crying out in a room over the fact that they were all being sent to a gladiator-style doomsday was bad, but having somebody you were either going to have watch die or kill by your own hand would only make it worse. Shiro didn’t want to do that to her.

Sometimes you just need to cry. Sometimes you just need peace. Shiro could give her that, and nothing else. As of now, they were stripped of anything else. Until they won the Games, that is. But at that point, they’d be stripped of their humanity, and what’s the point of having anything without having that?

You don’t come out of the Games alive, and you don’t go into the Games functional. In Panem, you’re Reaped, and then you’re down and out. It was a black hole of laughing Galra and steel rooms and sharp edges and harsh breathing and bark beating your skin and the whole time an underlying current of hopelessness and despair because there’s _nothing you can do._

It was funny. Shiro had given up hope for anything long ago, had kept any emotion he could at bay so he wouldn’t be flooded over. They were coming back. It was freeing. But it was also the worst possible thing that could have happened to him.

Shiro felt worn out and worse for wear at the brunt of it.

**-Allura-**

Allura _couldn’t breathe_ when she got Reaped. She thought for a moment that maybe they’d sniffed her out, maybe they’d found her.

But then she realized that if the Galra had really found her out, she’d be suffering worse than the Games. No, it wasn’t deliberate, her luck was _just that bad._

As a kid, things had been relatively simple. They’d been nice, even. She’s lived with her family, happy in her house and happy with her life. She’d shrieked with joy and shouted for glory and cried from laughing. She’d loved with a fire so strong it consumed her and fell so bad she broke bones, _but she always got back up again._

She’d run down hallways and drink concoctions on dares. She’d resewed her clothing and made it actually look good, she’d cooked dinner for her family and made it actually taste good. She’d slid down staircases, rolled in snow. She’d looked at stars and wondered who was on the other side, of times long passed. She’d read books of miracles, had climbed trees and looked at the world below her.

Then she’d been taught of the world.

Of the Galra, the oppression, the murder and the lies and the deceit. With every syllable formed from the speaker’s mouth, Allura’s world became darker around the edges, her soul tinged with red. Anger.

Allura’s eyes lost their sparkle and were replaced with fire. She’d begun running for stamina, training for fights. She’d climbed trees to spy for Galra planes, she’d rolled in snow to duck and cover, disguise herself. She’d changed, nearly everything had.

But she still carried around the same old books she’d stolen from the library. The ones that had made her world so much bigger, that made her heart sing and her brain move from the barracks to hills and skies and waters in a vibrant, lovely world.

One day her alarm was replaced by a sound that haunted her nightmares. It was the bomb bells ringing.

They were being bombed by the Galra.

She sprinted through the hallways against the flow of the crowd to get to her father. She knew he would be near the control room, he wouldn’t go to the shelters. _I won’t let my father die,_ she vowed to herself then and there, _not if it’s the last thing I do._

The control room was practically empty, and the video feed showed Galra airships descending upon the District. Allura felt panic shoot through her limbs with the adrenaline. She’d grabbed her father’s arm, pulled desperately. He hadn’t followed, no matter how she pleaded or threatened. She’d cried, and he only held her face in his hands and wiped the tears away.

The airships were getting closer, and she couldn’t breathe. She begged for her father to go with her to the shelters. She cursed the Galra for doing these things. She cursed the earth and the sky for harbouring them. She cursed the tears running down her face and the books she’d read as a child.

In that moment, Allura _felt_ her heart break like a blow to her chest. Those books had only given her false hope and petty daydreams. Her childhood of light slipped through her fingertips in that moment, with her father smiling tenderly at her and red alarm beacons flashing the world into a dark color. The sirens were blaring, the airships were roaring, and Allura heard her father’s final words to her.

She didn’t remember what they were.

He pushed her into a Preservation Pod. It was new technology they’d just developed, and nobody had any real reason to use one yet. She understood with painful clarity what her father was doing, and she screamed, raw and deep and real and so _full_ of every feeling she’d undergone through the years.

The loss of innocence.

The pain of empathy.

The snap of bones.

The sting of blood.

The despair of sirens.

In that moment, everything was too real to be surreal, but too surreal to be real.

She pounded on the door of the Pod as it slid shut, still screaming. Tears ran down her cheeks and into her mouth, along with sweat. She couldn’t feel any of her limbs and breathing was getting harder by the second. Her father never looked away from her, never stopped smiling fondly. Reassuringly. The screen on the Pod was slowly falling shut, her body was slowly shutting down, but none of it fast enough to spare her the sights.

She saw the Galra finally reach her District.

She watched the bombs fall.

She saw the fire burst through the walls, almost in slow motion.

The Pod finished its shutdown and Allura couldn’t breathe.

\--

When she took her first breath after waking up, it was followed by a sob. She didn’t know why. It was the first thing her body did. She looked around, collected her bearings. Memories were slipping back into her brain, and her limbs were growing heavier by the second. Tears from long ago left her eyes as the final moments came back, and she mourned.

But she’d walked again. She got herself through the forest to District 1, somehow. It was all blurred. Everything. She grieved that she didn’t have many memories of her past. She knew she was from the 13th District. She knew she’d had a good childhood, that she tried to save her father. She remembered fire.

In District 1, she learned what had happened in full, how much time had passed. It was beginning to jog her memory. She also came to know that the hollow look in her eyes scared people. She gritted her teeth and forced a smile. It hurt. She couldn’t breathe through the grin. She ate more, now missing the disgusting food from her home District. She trained again, falling into familiar motions as a therapeutic method for dealing with herself.

She’d immersed herself in the society presented to her and let herself drop back into place, somewhat. She still felt off, but she could go through the motions of working in a common laborer's life and feel a semblance of normalcy. She suppressed her past and worked to get a sparkle back in her eye.

She couldn’t feel the light, but she could pretend she did, and that was good enough.

Until the Reaping, that is.

 _Really,_ she thought in a panic, _after all I’ve been through, I’ve got to deal with this now. The Universe really wants me dead. And I’m not so sure I want to fight it anymore._

She laughed drily at her own thoughts, because surely this was a joke. Right? _Right?_

She asked anything and everything to please oh _please_ let it be joke. Let her wake up and walk to the cafeteria and eat gross green goo and make her father laugh and hide in the library with her books.

She felt phantom tears, but she didn’t cry. She didn’t let herself cry anymore. It choked her up. The smile she forced broke her, any sense of humanity or reality that was left in her. It made her crack. She couldn’t breathe. She wondered if she ever would.

She lost herself in her anguish for a moment. She drowned. She fell. She didn’t think she could get back up again.

But then the stranger stepped on stage, and she could see so many things in him. Fear, strength, resolve, but an underlayer of kindness and tenderness and worry. He made eye contact with her. She smiled, out of habit. He smiled back, and it was a bit reassuring. They were both stuck in the same boat, and the bond between two people who were going to die at each other’s sides was a special one.

She wasn’t fixed or patched in that moment. She was just as broken as before, cut deep. But she felt herself stop cracking as long as she smiled at him. Because she could tell he was just as broken as her. But she could tell he was _still_ picking himself back up.

It was something she’d forgotten how to do.

They both needed fixing. They both needed solace. They both needed room to breathe. Allura couldn’t help but hope they could push each other above water.

Her beliefs and hopes were only improved on the train, poking fun with him and laughing about the dumbest things, because when you’ve lost everything anything can be funny. He supported her at least a little bit, there to smile when she’d forgotten how, there to put duct tape on the cracks that surfaced, at least for a moment.

Shiro was slowly but surely pumping air into her lungs with his broken smiles and his comforting presence. Nobody had really understood anything about her before, or cared. They took her at surface level and took anything they needed from her, then tossed her aside and forgot her within the hour. She’d always found it a bit calming, the constant change and nothing being held to her, but this?

This was what she had truly craved. Somebody who cared, who had a wisp of smoke like her own, a dead fire trying to rise. The only thing was; he had a repressed spark. If they played their cards right, it would set them both aflame.

Allura had forgotten fire.

She really liked spending her time with Shiro, his small, hesitant grins and responsible personality. The jokes he made easily, the things he communicated silently. He a kindred soul to her own. He was slowly giving her breaths of air. It made her smiles a little more real.

But when she saw Coran, something shattered all over again.

She recognized him, in some strange part of her brain. From the shards of her childhood. He was like a brother to her. He practically raised her, along with her dad, though he was only a few years older than she. His quirky personality had lit up her childhood. She’d mourned his loss many a time in the darkness of her room. Now she could only think that he’d stumbled into a Pod too, though how was a mystery to her. Her father probably pushed him in too, seeing as Coran was like a son to him.

She fell _apart_ when she realized he didn’t recognize her in the slightest.

He looked at her, and his eyes slid right on over to Shiro, no change in expression, no nothing. He had Mice with him, which pained her as well, because they had been Allura’s childhood play buddy. They had been so close. They probably fell into the Pod with Coran, which was why the two were together now.

She _understood_ why they didn’t recognize her. She’d spent many sleepless nights restless in her bed, struggling to regain every memory she could. She’d grasped at strings and _pulled,_ she’d followed broken paths to fallen buildings and danced through ghostly ruins to posses what parts of her past she did now.

She didn’t blame them for not knowing her.

It hurt nonetheless.

She made it through the day with her old fake smiles and “sparkle” in her eyes. She’d made it with phantom tears and barely suppressed shuddering in her limbs. She’d gone back to the train. Shiro was concerned, of course he was, he could probably read her like a book, if she could read the fact that he was worried out of the few glances he gave.

He knew it was something to do with Coran and Mice, but he didn’t want to ask. He did end up questioning, in his own way, and she answered in her own way. Fakely cheerful. A lie. A skip in her step on the way back to her room. Every time a deeper crack. Every time more air sucked out of her like she was facing an endless vacuum of space and the stars were just fire.

When stars were only fire, the Universe was only void, and people were only dirt.

When stars were only fire, the fire ate the oxygen out of the air and left none for her.

Allura cried tears that were only water, tears that were _finally_ water. Water should put out fire. But who was Allura to cry away the shallow stars?

**-Hunk-**

Once Lance and Pidge got over whatever had gone down between them (Hunk noticed Lance had started calling Pidge by they/them pronouns but didn’t make any remarks) the trio had spent the rest of the day training and working together. Hunk was grateful for their stabilizing presence, for their smiles and support. He felt actually _safe_ around them.

Needless to say, the pair of them were growing on him fast.

But he was still discouraged when he saw a lot of the other Tributes were getting into groups.

A bunch of tall people with heads held high from Districts 5 and 7 got together. From the looks of them, Hunk could tell they would be trouble, especially the self-appointed leader (his name started with a Z…? Zachariah?). They seemed to have their order together and worked well with one another, and each of them looked like they could pack a punch to take you to next Tuesday.

But they also looked like they all held barely-contained disdain for one another, which could be a major disadvantage in the Games.

The short multicolored hair kid and the tall redhead (Calvin or something) from District 4 were working seamlessly with one another, playing off the strengths of the other and showed signs of a friendship that had been brewing for years. They were also both obviously good with a weapon. Hunk sensed that there was something to fear about the pair of them (maybe it was the weird haired kid), and silently made the promise to keep away from them in the Arena.

The Tributes from District 1 (Shiro and Allura, Hunk remembered their names) weren’t the typical Careers, to Hunk’s relief. They still looked deadly and good in a fight (and from Hunk had seen, they _were_ good in a fight, like, _extremely_ good) but they seemed a lot kinder and more open, sharing small smiles and tenderness exuberating from their presence. They had nearly seamless teamwork (couldn’t seem to take their eyes off each other, not that he’d make any remarks) and he could see their hands hesitate before they took weapons. Not killers, then.

The kid who had come over and started acting weirdly when Hunk asked what he needed (and also who looked a lot like Pidge but Hunk didn’t let himself think about that too much) was a bit of a loner, yet he tended to hover close to Shay, the other Tribute from his District.

Shay had bright eyes like fire, and that was the first thing Hunk noticed about her. He looked in them and felt like he was drowning. He also noticed how _nice_ she was, she laughed easily and tried her best to help others, or get them to smile. Hunk didn’t know where it stemmed from, but she had an energy, and seemed like the dreamer type.

He stared at her too long and Lance and Pidge made fun of him (they are _ruthless_ ).

Pitt and Xan seemed to be doing their best, seeing as you didn’t really need English to swing a sword or fire a bow, but did seem to be lacking in the communication department, for obvious reasons. He felt bad for them, he wanted to go up and try to help them with translations, or at least make an effort with those two like Lance had, but he knew that there wasn’t anything he could do to help them in the long run. They were fitting in just fine with one another, and obviously had a friendship backed by years (Hunk noticed lingering glances and open body language, dilated pupils and hesitations, not that he’d make any remarks). He figured they would be fine and would learn the language soon. Hunk hoped so.

Then there were the two Tributes from 9. Thace and Pawn. Hunk knew their names because there was good and specific reason to. District 2 was close to the Capitol, close enough to get news from it and be considered one of the higher and more privileged Districts, which Hunk knew it was. It was also the District that the military centers were in.  You get many Galra and people from the Capitol walking through District 2. You hear a lot of gossip from them. These are common occurrences.

So Hunk knew _all about_ the ex-soldier Thace who had gone rogue, who deliberately _murdered_ the pilot of a Galran airship to spare some wrath on the people. He’d also messed with the Games behind the scenes, and covered his tracks well enough that nobody could prove it was him, but everybody knew it was him. He was an ex-Galra. He had used his power to rebel against the Capitol. Whatever resistance movement there was used him as an inspiration, whatever Capitol person there was told horror stories increasing in improbability about him.

The Galra must have put him here to make an example out of him after they’d caught him, because they couldn’t torture him with any solid ground and wouldn’t do it without. Not to say the Games weren’t torture.

And Pawn? Despite being nearly _rejected_ and _ignored_ by his family, he’d been raised and weaned to be a part of the Galra. As he grew older, his position in the patriarchy had more and more authority, until he was overseeing the Games one year. As the clocks were counting down for the Tributes to be released into the Bloodbath, he suddenly shut down all the systems and hosted a high-scale evacuation and escape for the Tributes, all while fighting off the Galra soldiers and enforcers barging the door of his office, in under 10 minutes. He ended up getting all of the Tributes out of there, and was about to pull an escape himself when one of the Galra soldiers just _shot his arm off._

He’d still managed to escape, though Hunk could only _imagine_ how, and get all the Tributes to safety. The Games had been a mess that year, not that anyone was really complaining. Pawn must’ve since changed his name, but it couldn’t be anyone else. Hunk had seen that face in the news a thousand times, and the missing limb was a dead giveaway.

He wondered how the Galra had managed to get Pawn. He’d gone into hiding after the Event, nobody had seen or heard from him since. Hunk hated that the Galra had gotten a hold of him. He also felt bad for Pawn, and couldn’t imagine what he was going through.

Thace and Pawn seemed to be mostly sticking together, neutrally going through the motions and training along with the rest of the Tributes. But Hunk still noticed shared looks and subtle shifting of the hands and feet that weren’t natural human behaviours. From what he could tell, the two were communicating (not that he’d make any remarks).

He also noticed Thace kept throwing glances at a Tribute from 12 and Lance’s fellow Tribute from 3 (whom Lance had already complained about extensively). 12 and 3 looked like they were related, and could have easily been brothers, which didn’t make much sense considering the District difference (Hunk hoped it wasn’t the case, having a sibling in the Games with you would be heartbreaking). They spent most of their time together, along with the other Tribute from 12, who was a tall kid with sharp features and even sharper fighting skills. Hunk would be afraid to even be near him, so he made sure to direct his group any place but wherever 12 and 3 were hanging out (he also didn’t need to hear Lance rant about his partner again, even though he was picking up some interesting undertones from those two, not that he’d make any remarks).

The Tributes from 11 were interesting, both sticking to their own thing and neither really teaming up with anyone, not even the other. Hunk didn’t know their names whatsoever, because they were staying pretty quiet and concentrated on their tasks.

The first Tribute always got a slightly sour look on their face whenever somebody called them by female pronouns. It was little enough that you would only notice if you were looking. From what else he could see from them, they were deadly. Plain and simple. They left nothing up to chance and cut down everything in their way, with zero hesitation and zero mistakes. Going head to head against them in any sort of battle would be easy suicide. They walked and carried themselves like a Galra soldier (Hunk had seen enough of those to know) and it was entirely possible they were a spy from the Galra to make sure there wasn’t any sort of revolution planning going down in this odd group of misfits (namely: Thace and Pawn). Hunk put forth his best effort to stay away from them.

The _boy_ from 11 was short, and seemed to have an intense temper. He used it to his advantage in fights, and it seemed to work for him. He had a constant aggressive pose, but also defensive. Quite simply, this kid was always ready to fight. Otherwise, the boy was a mystery, closed off and not talking to any of the other Tributes.

Then of course there was District 6. The Tributes definitely worked well together, the boy being on the tougher side (his name started with an R, Roth or something) who seemed to like to punch things out, and the girl being on the conniving side, Hunk didn’t trust her the moment he saw her (her name was Nyma, which Hunk remembered because her very aura was very intimidating). The two of them excelled in simulations and in robotics and electricity, and also seemed the type with fingers that were quick to steal (not that he’d make any remarks).

So when Hunk saw his other Tributes, he saw average and he saw superior, he saw threats and he saw safety. Mostly he was afraid. There were too many variables for him to be comfortable, but he supposed there wasn’t much else he could expect.

His little squad of Tributes wasn’t half bad, in his own opinion. Pidge was an obvious genius, quick to learn (and quick to snark). Their perception was incredible, and so was their agility. They were skilled with a dagger and had a glint in their eye which left Hunk glad they were on his side. They also had a smile that filled you with joy when you looked at it and a laugh that started off as a snort until they were flat out howling. The glint in their eyes could just as easily be a spark, and Hunk felt like he wanted to protect them from any sort of evil the Games tried to impose on them.

Lance was good with ranged weapons, slingshots and bows (though it took him a bit to get used to using a bow), and even throwing knives. He had a quick and focussed eye, and made snap decisions that almost always turned out to be the right choice. Not to mention, he was always making them laugh with a joke, and had an easy smile that lit up his entire face. He had an openly caring personality and loving nature like Hunk, but would throw sarcastic comments right back in Pidge’s face without any hesitation (his lack of filter was infuriating and hilarious). He still acted a bit like a fish out of water with them.

It was funny, he was pretty awkward at first, but by the end of the first day he was coming out of his shell and was acting under an arrogant guise that left Hunk and Pidge laughing till their guts were busted. He had crashed and failed on more than one simulation, and would come out, pop his collar, brush invisible dust off his shoulders and go, “So how in awe of me are you right now? Basking in the light of my talent?” And Hunk could _see_ the hesitation behind his pose, through the light of his smile, and Hunk laughed, not only because _Lance you screwed that up so bad I’m surprised you didn’t set the place on fire what the crap_ but also because it was obvious Lance needed something. He gave laughter to Lance willingly. It was worth it to see the way his eyes lit up (and also at some points he couldn’t help it, as much as he pretended the pompous act was unamusing).

And Pidge was coming out of their cage too, confident now that they had things like gender out of the air and no static holding them back. They didn’t even try to stop the sarcasm, let out any witty retort that came through their head (Lance got _roasted_ and _dragged through the mud_ multiple times and it was the most entertaining thing Hunk had seen to date). Hunk joined in every so often, taking one side or another, and every time he did Lance and Pidge’s eyes would spark with a new determination and they shared a glance (he’ll be on my side this time, you’ll see) (innocent puppy eyes beg to differ, Lance) (shut up, you’re like, 12) (if I’m 12 then what are you?) before breaking into their full-fledged fight once more, this time, with Hunk!

He liked the friends he had made, and spending time with them was enough to distract him from the stress of everything else going on right now. He just let it happen, the friendship flowed naturally between the three, even when Pidge was lecturing Lance about how robotics worked and Lance just made a show of yawning.

He felt a different kind of fondness rise for them, and was glad that he’d run into them in this maelstrom of his life at the moment.

Their smiles were enough to keep him going.

**-Keith-**

Training started to blur together after he’d tagged along with Kevin and Swanky. He’d been doing enough “stress workouts” through the years to be able to do the exercise with little effort and pay more attention to what Kevin and Swanky were going on about.

Keith payed as much attention to what they were discussing as he could. He wanted to be a part of this revolution, and if that was the case, he needed to know as much as he could about it. He needed to know his way around the plan, the rhyme, the rhythm. He needed to know who else was joining them. If he just listened, he could learn everything he needed to know, _without speaking._

But he couldn’t help but ask who Thace was.

Swanky lifted an arm to gesture vaguely in the direction of a big, muscled guy with a slightly familiar face. Probably from the news. Keith thought he looked rather average for a guy that was organizing a high-scale revolution in Panem while simultaneously facing the Games. But then again, he was never the best at reading people, and wouldn’t you want the person leading a revolution to be a calm one who could look average?

“Kevin, you haven’t made a sarcastic comment in two minutes and I’m worried about your health, talk to me buddy,” Swanky quipped.

Keith looked to his brother. Kevin had stopped with his weights and was just staring at the floor between his feet. Keith felt concern churn in his stomach. What was wrong with his brother? Was there something he could do about it? _Was Kevin okay and how could he make him okay?_

“Did the 10 pounders become too heavy for you out of the blue?” Swanky asked.

Kevin smiled, and it was small, but it was there. He didn’t look up from his feet though. It was strange. Usually his head was held high.

“I just can’t lift the weight of the past on my shoulders, feel me? Maybe we should upgrade me to 20 pounds so I can condition for it.”

Kevin’s attempt to hide the profound significance of the statement behind a joke was so poorly done that Keith was concerned. Usually he was at least a _little_ smoother than that. Usually he never let out that much information at once, about himself, or anything. Ever. Usually he was more… closed off.

Whatever it was that had happened (so suddenly Keith was feeling whiplash) to Kevin  was obviously worse than usual. Keith didn’t know what to do, let alone what had come over Kevin. He felt lost.

Kevin got up and stretched his back before turning to look at Swanky.

“Mind if this kid and I go talk for a minute?” Kevin asked. Swanky nodded.

Kevin gestured for Keith to follow him, then started across the room to a secluded spot.

**-Kevin-**

He’d waited too long to tell Keith. He’d promised his Ma he’d _never_ tell Keith, but to hell with that, the kid deserved to know. Kevin knew he’d break the promise even as he was vowing it. The lying words stung his tongue, but watching his little brother grow up in a house built with secrets was even worse. He did his best to make it bearable.

One day he’d been a bit overwhelmed by it all, because as _awesome_ as he was, people crack. And he did. Crack. It was ugly, hideous, all at once like an explosion. He’d thrown things, broken things. He’d hit the wall till his fists bled and bit his lips till they were raw and shredded.

He went so far as to burn his hand on the wick of a candle, relishing in the feeling of tears down his cheeks and the burning on his skin, reminding him of who he was, that he was still alive.

He was a being of fire, who was built with mud and lived off water.

His little brother had come home to a broken house, windows shattered and walls chipped, wood boards splintered and the table on the front lawn. He didn’t say a word as he moved the table back to the kitchen and picked up the broken glass. Then he got a tub of water and brought it to Kevin, who was still crying on the floor, and dumped it over his head.

Kevin shot up, confused and surprised, and looked to his brother accusingly. Keith only shrugged, though his eyes were filled with laughter. His pose was only slightly guarded.

“You get this way sometimes, shivering even though it isn’t cold and bleeding even though there’s nothing to bleed for. There’s fire in your eyes and it looks like you’re falling into it. I doused the fire.”

Kevin barked out a guffaw and pulled his brother in for a hug. Keith stiffened, but didn’t make any protest. Nonetheless, Kevin let go quickly. Keith shook himself out and turned to go to his room.

Kevin felt a little better after that, but the problem hadn’t been solved. He honestly felt like it never would be.

He and Keith ate breakfast the next day on a lopsided table. Kevin noticed bandages on Keith’s hands. He felt himself going numb as he realized Keith must’ve cut himself when he was picking up all the shattered glass the day before.

Keith had said Kevin would always bleed for no reason. But Keith didn’t need to bleed either. So why was he? Why why _why_ was his little brother bleeding?

Kevin also used to obsessively clean the house.

He wanted to scrape the secrets off the counter, dig the deceit from the ground. He couldn’t stand living in lies, so he took a cleaning rag to the walls. He whistled the tune his Ma had taught him, quietly so he wouldn’t disturb Keith.

Keith found him out anyway, of course, so they ended up whistling around the house together. Keith was having the time of his life. He was alive and happy. Kevin thought so many things in that moment, felt so many things in that moment.

He couldn’t bear to know that he and Keith were trying to clean the house of its ruses. He couldn’t bear Keith knowing. He couldn’t bear Keith _not_ knowing. He hated that the only thing between Keith and a wall of calamity was a thin cleaning rag.

But Keith kept whistling and singing and swinging his hips, so Kevin supposed everything was okay.

He had kept the secret for too long, though, which Kevin knew as he marched through the training room to the most private place he could find. Too long. Despite wanting Keith to retain his innocence, despite wanting to keep his promise to his mother, he _needed to know._

Thace had reminded him. He’d been avoiding thinking too deeply about him all day, but he knew that the breakdown was inevitable, really. Look at the situation and tell him to keep a cool head, _honestly_.

He could hardly face Keith at this point. Hardly look him in the eye and feel anything but too many feelings. He wanted to be anywhere but here. But all roads lead to Rome, and Vesuvius had a thing or two to say.

Kevin took a moment. A breath. This was it.

“You okay?”

Keith’s voice spurred him to say it, in the end. It was always Keith. _Sorry, Ma, but everything is about to change. Everything has to change. Without change, there is no going forward. And if you aren’t going forward, then what are you doing?_

“Keith, I have something to say to you, I have _so many things_ to say to you _._ I will say none of them if you give me the chance to. Let me talk until I’m done, otherwise I’ll _never_ say it.” Kevin waited for Keith to nod before continuing.

“Our Ma... was a _wonderful_ woman. She was kind, respectful, strong, simply hilarious, patient, loving, and I could go on and on about her for days, and days, and _days_ . But our father was the worst man I’ve ever met in the long, long years of my life. He was a brute. He was short tempered and demanding, he cared for nobody but himself, and reveled in in seeing other people’s suffering. He laughed at their screams, he drunk their tears in lavish cups emblazoned with the symbol of the Capitol. Because Keith, our… our father was a _Galra_. He had high standing, one of the President's advisors. He got what he wanted.” Keith masked a gasp. Kevin continued, keeping hold of his mental state with a clenched fist.

“And he wanted Ma. Or at least, some parts of her. She was living well in District 3, but he came along and, well, things changed for her.

“He didn’t replace the house. He only burst in through the door and didn’t take no for an answer. He never cared enough to use any sort of... _protection_. He was enraged when he found out about me. So enraged… he did things to her that she refused to tell me about. I’m grateful. I can only guess.

“I grew up in the same house with Ma, did chores and worked with the District, and hid whenever he came within a 20 foot radius of the house. Things weren’t bad, but I couldn’t _stand_ seeing the look in Ma’s eyes. I learned how to put up with it. She learned how to pretend she was okay. We made do.

“And you know, one would _think_ that after the first time he would learn his lesson, that I would grow up an only child, trying to uphold my mother’s mental health and work for the house as a whole all by myself, nobody to love or care for at my side. But no, Keith, because you made it. Look at you. _You’re here._ I was _overjoyed_ the second I learned. I wouldn’t be alone. I had someone to love. Someone who would love me. Someone besides steadily dwindling Ma, someone. Just _someone_.” Kevin couldn’t keep going. He kept going.

“He had to leave for a while on Galra duties. We would have a time of repose. Eight months at least. Ma hoped she would be able to hide you. She hoped against hope, did everything she could to speed the pregnancy along. I helped to the best of my ability.

“But luck is seldom that good, and when associating with _him_ ? Nothing good could happen. He was an aura, a wave, he would crash and leave destruction in his wake. He… he came in on the night of your birth. The midwife was scared away from the pounding at the door, and I was left with Ma in the room. She kept pushing and crying even though he was right there, didn’t stop or give up on you for a _minute_.” Kevin’s voice was so choked it didn’t sound like his own. The words didn’t feel like his own. Nothing felt like his anymore, he was falling apart.

“He was in a _rage_. I tried my best to stop him. He literally threw me across the room. I hit the wall hard. I blacked out.

“When I woke up there was a crying newborn baby on the floor, and next to the baby… Ma… Ma was _bleeding out_.” The picture haunted his subconscious, taunted his nightmares. It froze in time. The door hung off it’s hinges. The baby in misery. His Ma dying, slowly, every breath closer to her last.

“I scrambled to Ma, of course. She looked at me, and I could _see_ the light draining from her eyes. She told me your name. She told me she loved me. She wiped my tears and… and…” Kevin couldn’t continue. At this point he could barely breathe. He needed to cry, he felt like crying. Keith looked no better. But Keith looked back at him.

“Tell me the rest.” Kevin was shocked. He could barely function after having _said_ that, but having this dumped on him just like _that_? Kevin didn’t know how Keith could still speak. But he needed to tell Keith the rest. Keith needed to know. All or nothing.

“I hid. I hired some ladies I came upon to help me raise you when it came to parts I… couldn’t do. I cleaned up the bedroom. Fixed up the house. I… _buried_ her. Things were going well, somewhat. You were starting to learn how to speak. You were the cutest kid, you know that? You’d always wobble when you walked, and whenever you fell you got a sour look on your face and got back up again. Whenever I fed you something sweet your face would scrunch up, and you’d throw a tantrum if I came anywhere near your hair with scissors. But yeah. Things were going well. But one day, the Galra just… stormed our house. We hid together in a closet, but we got found. I’d never been so scared in my life.

“It turns out father dearest sold us out to the Galra. Two children without parents and reason for spite towards the Capitol. He was probably worried we’d expose him for what he did dishonestly. In any case, we were literally property to them. I don’t know what they had planned for us, and quite frankly I don’t want to know. The Galra are disgusting enough that it could have been anything.

“We were shipped to who knows where. We were wrestled, manhandled. You cried, but you’ve never been a loud crier. A few times you were louder than average, and they threatened to shut you up themselves if I didn’t. It was the worst couple of hours I’d ever lived through.

“When we showed up at our destination, it turned out we now… _belonged_ to this Galra dude. Tall. Firm. Intimidating. I had no idea what was in store. But as soon as the Galra soldiers left, it all fell away like washed out water, and he became a concerned, slightly gruff civilian type. I had no idea the Galra had any civilian side to them. This one did. He took care of us, took possession of our house and shipped us back there. He supplied us with monthly rations, enough for us and even our neighbors.

“With his help, I managed to get you grown up to a healthy kid and our household to a stable enough standing point. We never talked. I don’t know the sound of this Galra’s voice. But I know his name. His name was… his name was _Thace_.”

Throughout the whole spiel, Keith had kept his face carefully closed off, but with the revelation that the Galra was Thace, he let out a small gasp and looked openly surprised, casting a quick glance around the room.

“From there, I got us through childhood. We’d been doing well. So well.” Kevin’s voice choked up at the last part. He’d labored and worked for _years_ for Keith, to keep him safe and happy and protected. He’d worked tirelessly, loved him endlessly, and the Capitol _still_ managed to rip it away from him with their scythes. He’d tried _so hard._

But all roads lead to Rome.

And Rome was nothing without its gladiators.


	2. One Step Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no wifi. I am updating this from the other side. Sorry if the formatting is weird, I'm on mobile and crying.  
> If you made it this far: I'm amazed. Both by you and the response I've gotten. Thanks for reading guys!  
> Right so this is kind of a filler chapter? Kind of. There's a lot of development but nothing really Happens.  
> Although!! The OCS!! You meet them in this chapter! I love the OCs. The OCs are lovely. I hope you love the OCs. The OCs need more love. (Psst their creators are on the notes of the first chapter)  
> Also? I'll try to update Fridays? How does that sound? Like I said, I have no wifi. And only a few prewritten chapters. We'll see how this goes.  
> Alright. This picks up at the end of training from last chapter. We meet some people, learn some things, and move one step closer to the Games. Hope you enjoy.  
> (Also my beta reader is hesitantlyoptimistic on tumblr go check her out she's actually the best)

> **-Lance-**

At the end of the day when they all went back to their residences (escorted by their Mentors- not that Lance minded, Abra was nice enough), Lance couldn’t help but wonder about Keith. He was quiet, but that wasn’t the weird part, he seemed more… solemn. Spending time with Hunk and Pidge all day made him a bit more aware of other people and their actions and reactions by nature (he’d listened as the two of them analytically assessed every Tribute in the room, going back and forth between each other, and by the end Lance was stupefied by them).

Lance had spent his entire life with only his family. He didn’t _need_ to know how to read people. But he wasn’t with his family anymore, he was caught in a group of kids that didn’t want to kill but didn’t want to die.

So reading people was something he was working on, but he didn’t need to try too hard to tell something was off about Keith. When they got to the Dining Hall, Keith picked up his dinner plate and disappeared to his room, and Lance was 95% sure he was walking faster than he had before. Abra was quiet, and Lance was unsettled. Last time he had gone to see if Keith was okay, he’d barked at Lance to get out of his room. But since when has Lance been a quick learner? Or somebody easily discouraged?

Choice made, he stood from his chair and walked out the same door Keith just had, leaving behind his meal and going down the carpeted hallways to where he knew Keith’s room was. He hoped he wouldn’t mess up this time.

When he got to the door to his room though, the lights were off. Lance knocked lightly anyways.

There was no answer. There was nothing.

Lance felt fear rising in his stomach. It was possible Keith was okay, just asleep.

It was also possible that Keith was _very not okay_ and being moody and sullen all by himself with the lights off.

Lance chose to believe the former, but chose to assume the latter.

He just wanted to make sure Keith was all right.

He opened the door and closed it quickly to keep out the light. He stepped into the room as quietly as he could. It was too dark to make out much of anything, and he was afraid he would run into the bed or something. He didn’t really know what to do… because if Keith was awake then Lance would just be standing there but if he was asleep he didn’t want to wake him up by saying something.

Lance took a second to breathe and let his eyes adjust. He pretended it didn’t matter, none of it mattered, there was no weight, rhyme or reason. He was okay. Everything was okay. He’d wake up in a couple of hours and see his sisters and his Pops and his mom. Everything was okay. Nothing that happened really happened.

Let him believe that, for just one night.  
Nothing matters anymore, this doesn’t matter. There is, literally, _nothing to fear._ Come on Lance, please, get it together.  
He took one deep breath and let out a whisper.

“Keith, are you okay?”

“Get out of my room, Lance.” So he _was_ awake. Lance was relieved, a little bit. But his voice sounded… _off_. Keith wasn’t exactly okay, Lance knew that much.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Lance pointed out.

“Yeah, you know what, I’m _fine_ , thanks for asking, now: _Get. Out_.”

Keith still sounded on the verge of tears. Lance was just so _tired_.

“Look, I know enough to understand the fact that you don’t like me and that’s _cool_ , but I _know_ you aren’t ‘fine’ Keith. Don’t you _dare_ pull that with me when you’re so obviously _not okay_. Leave it to you to be the silent broody type, but look at the situation. We can’t go through this by ourselves, man, we just _can’t_. It’s _too much_. You can cry all you want, but the dark is for dreaming. Turn on the lights and face me. Tell me again that you’re fine. And I’ll leave.”

Lance was shocked by the rage he felt. He didn’t want to lash out at Keith but… he needed to listen to _reason_. Nobody should have to face the Games, nobody should have to live through this type of torture, especially not _children_ , but look at them. Look at where they are.

As much as they like to dream, the lights turn on. You can see it all, the real world. The death and the fear and the destruction and the blood and the crying and the screaming and the ruins and the fire. You can see it _all_. And it doesn’t look out of place.

Keith had to face it just as much as the rest of them, and Lance wasn’t going to let him do it alone, as much as the kid apparently _wanted to._

The lights switched on with a hum and Lance tried not to act surprised, or to stare. His efforts, of course, failed dramatically and he ended up doing _both_.

Keith was somewhat of a mess, hair rumpled and eyes watery. His face was blotchy and his lips were red from being chewed on. He was shaking badly.

Lance ran over to the thermostat and turned up the temperature in the room ( _honestly_ , did he want to _freeze_?) before putting a blanket around Keith’s shoulders. Keith shook him off. Lance sneered. He couldn’t be serious.

“Lance, _I’m fine._ Get off me. Get out of my room.”

He wanted to laugh, no scratch that, he _did_ laugh. Keith must be joking. Lance brought the blanket back around his shoulders, and kept his hands there to stop Keith from shaking it off. He was kneeling in front of Keith, whose back was to the bed. Keith looked so tired. Keith looked so lost.

Lance pulled a pillow down from the bed and put it in Keith’s lap. He scowled.

“What are you doing? Get off. _Get out._ ”

Lance chuckled again, shook his head slightly before finally pulling down another blanket, which he promptly pulled over Keith’s head so he was huddled in a double-blanket-wrap. As he was working he spoke to Keith, quietly and calmly for once.

“Keith, take a minute to relax. You aren’t doing this yourself. You just aren’t.”

“Who are you to decide that Lance? You don’t get to make these choices for me! Nobody does! Now _get out of my room_ or I will _force you out_ ,” Keith shouted.

“Don’t do this to yourself Keith! Let go of your temper and your pride for just a minute and _let somebody take care of you. Please_ ,” Lance yelled back.

Keith looked torn, and still on the verge of tears. He looked like a broken child. He suddenly looked away from Lance.

Keith grumbled and shifted, but reluctantly gave Lance the green light to take care of him. Lance felt complete relief wash through his body. He got up to turn the lights down from their harsh glow. He grabbed a cup of water from the bathroom and pulled a large, comfortable looking sweater from the closet.

When he made his way back to Keith, he hadn’t moved, just curled more into himself. His shoulders sunk and the blanket over his head fell into his face, acting as a hood. With the lighting more calm Lance saw Keith relax, just a little, and it was enough to spur him forward.

He sat down across from Keith and threw the sweater onto his head, just so it was there.

Keith looked up in confusion, and Lance could see more tears in his eyes. He forced himself to breathe evenly.

“The pillow,” he started, pointing to the cushion in his lap, “is for hugging.” The expression that scrunched up Keith’s face when he said that was hysterical, and Lance had to suppress a laugh.

“The sweater,” he continued, “is for whatever you need it for. A blanket, a second pillow, wearing it. It’s generally an all-around feel-good item.” Keith was looking more and more like he was regretting letting Lance into his personal space, but Lance was far from done. Besides, he looked less like he was going to bawl until all the water was drained out of him, so Lance figured he was doing _something_ right.

“The water,” he stated, handing over the cup to Keith, “warms your hands. You hold it, and it makes you feel better. It’s some magical crap right there. Besides, hydration, _especially_ when you’re sad, is important. So drink it if you need to calm down, or if you’re feeling parched.”

He finished off with that statement, and watched as Keith carefully took the water and held it in between his palms, just to warm himself up. Keith gazed into the cup, didn’t say a word or look back up at Lance. Lance was fine with that. He could just be there if Keith didn’t want to talk. He could listen if Keith needed somebody to listen to him.

“It’s not what I thought it was,” Keith murmured, so lowly Lance could barely hear it over the thrum of the lights. What did he mean by that? What was ‘it’? How was Lance supposed to deal with this?

It didn’t matter. Keith needed comfort.

“Things rarely are. We can only attempt to move forward,” Lance said, softly, quietly. He almost couldn’t hear _himself_.

It seemed the way the conversation was going to be had. He was fine with that. If Keith had burdens made of whispers, Lance would hear them and whisper the strength back into him, syllable by syllable.

None of them deserved the suffering they were being put through. None of them could do anything about it. But that didn’t mean Lance wouldn’t _try_.

“But I _can’t_ , Lance!” Keith snapped, and looked up abruptly. Lance was stunned, but he wouldn’t let Keith’s watery glare scare him off. Not again.

“ _Since when_? You can and I _know_ it!” Lance shouted back.

“You can’t promise _anything_ , we have _nothing_ … we have nothing left,” Keith’s voice cracked. Lance stared him in the eye.

“I _promise_ , Keith, you can fight, you can _move forward_. You can _make it_.” Lance didn’t know if he was lying or not. He didn’t know where this feeling was coming from. Why was he defending Keith so badly?

“None of it can _change_ , none of it will ever change! I’ll be _stuck with this_ for the rest of my life, however short _that_ turns out to be!” Keith sounded so _lost_ and _broken_ and Lance didn’t know why they were shouting so angrily. He didn’t know what to do to comfort Keith, or what he could say. He was barely keeping his own panic and sadness at bay at this point. 

“Keith, I...”

Lance suddenly moved forward and wrapped his arms around the blanket clad form on front of him. Keith was shaking. He stiffened a little when Lance hugged him, but leaned into the embrace after a moment.

“I… I’m the reason for my mother’s _death_ , Lance. She _died_ because of me. And I was only a _mistake_ in the first place. I was never meant to be here. She was never meant to die. I can’t… _I can’t_ …”

Keith’s head was buried in the blankets and resting against Lance’s shoulder. He felt cold fall through his veins at Keith’s words, before hugging him tighter and pulling him closer. Keith was crying at this point, he couldn’t even talk.  
Lance didn’t say anything and let Keith cry it out. Tears work better than words sometimes.

Neither of them spoke after that. He pulled the blankets tighter around Keith’s shoulders and just hugged him through the night.

\--

When Lance woke up, he was completely disoriented. He was on the ground (he’d worry about his back hurting but the carpets were too soft for that to be of any concern), he wasn’t in his own room (all the rooms looked similar but his had softer carpet and a bigger window), he didn’t remember falling asleep at all last night (or what had happened last night _at all_ ), and he didn-

Oh wait.

 _Yup_ , he _definitely remembered_ what had happened last night.

He was lying on the floor of Keith’s room in a small blanket nest, though it was really two blankets, a red sweater, a pillow, and a spilled cup of water.

Lance thought quickly about how the last time he’d gotten within 10 feet of Keith, he’d been severely denied and chased off, so cuddling with him on the floor was a definite impro-

Wait.

Cuddling on the floor?

If Lance wasn’t awake enough, he was _plenty alert_ now that his brain had finally caught up with him and he found himself and Keith still hugging, with their legs tangled and cradling each other in their arms. Keith’s hair was rumpled, and his face was entirely relaxed.

Seeing him without the stress weighing down on his shoulders and a scowl invading his facial features was a bit of a shock, but a welcome one. One of Keith’s cheeks squished against the floor and Lance thought it was probably the most endearing thing ever. He had no idea Keith could be so… at peace.

He made it his new personal mission to make sure Keith was given the chance at repose, so maybe he could lose some of that weight on his shoulders. Lance wanted to get him more time to rest, because he seemed to need it.

As much as Lance should’ve been scared, or worried, or stressed about _everything_ right now, he just felt… _calm_.

He closed his eyes and let himself be content, letting go of any thinking. He didn’t catch himself as he fell into sleep.

**-Keith-  
**

Keith had not planned to wake up in the morning cuddling with a sleepy Lance on the floor of his room in a blanket nest.

Keith woke up that morning cuddling with a sleepy Lance on the floor of his room in a blanket nest.

He wasn’t sure how much he regretted it.  
He remembered last night. He remembered Lance coming into his room, and _still_ not being able to decipher the weird twist in his gut that was just getting _worse_ and he just needed to be alone after the _punch to the face_ news he got from Kevin. He remembered Lance calming him down and insisting on taking care of him.

He remembered looking into Lance’s (grossly) starry eyes and the feeling in his gut just went away. And he felt calm, a little bit at least. So he agreed to let Lance do what he wanted to do. Once Lance got up he remembered the weight of his problems and his mother _gone_ and the Games fast approaching and Kevin on the verge of _tears_ and-

Lance was a help. Or maybe it was the blankets.

Either way, he felt loads better.

Keith couldn’t really help but admire the way a sunbeam broke through a crack in the curtains and danced over Lance’s face, and the way it made him glow. He couldn’t help but admire how soft and _content_ he looked, because even with all these things trying to break his back, he was still going. Keith noticed a small dusting of freckles on his dark skin, and his mouth turned up slightly at the corners. His eyelids fluttered restlessly for a moment, but then stayed completely still.

Lance was warm. Cuddling with Lance wasn’t entirely awful. He was a good hugger.

\--

The bell that signified it was time for everybody to get up rang, telling them they only had 10 minutes to get to breakfast. Keith was worried about what would happen when Lance woke up. What would he think? Would he deny last night ever happened, or make fun o-

Lance’s eyes blinked open sleepily, despite the shrill wake up call. A dopey smile grew on his mouth and he still had fluffy bed-hair and Keith’s stomach was doing the thing but this time it was less harsh and more… warm?

Lance yawned before turning his tired gaze back to Keith.

“Morning. Sleep all right, blanket hog?”

“There were two blankets. We each should've gotten one.”

“Why did you get the bigger one?” Lance whined, and as he spoke he shrunk back under the edge of the blanket he was using, as if he wanted to go back to sleep.

“Fine, you can have the bigger blanket next time,” Keith muttered, flustered and grouchy and tired.

Lance peeked his eyes _just_ over the edge of his blanket, and from what Keith could see, he was smiling.

“Neeext time?” Lance asked, and even though his voice was filled with sleep he could still make it sing-song. He must be part bird.

Keith realized what he had just implied and started trying to stutter his way out of it, but Lance wouldn’t stop giggling tiredly, and Keith couldn’t concentrate through the sound.

“Are we going to try and get to breakfast or not?” Keith grumbled. Lance giggled one more time.

“Yeah, sure. Wake me up when you’re done changing,” and he untangled himself from Keith, then promptly twisted over to go back to sleep. Keith rolled his eyes.

\--

The red sweater was slightly itchy, but also it made Keith feel a bit more at ease when he wore it- same as the big heavy blanket Lance had stolen off the bed that he’d slept with. A part of him didn’t want to admit that Lance was a factor in any of this, but the other part of him thinks the first part is dumb and he would never wear this shade of red without interference.

At least it was comfortable.

He didn’t know how to go about waking Lance up. His first method was to nudge him awake with his foot.

“Ngggh, five more minutes,” Lance mumbled.

“Lance, we need to be at breakfast in five more minutes.”

“The food isn’t _that_ good.”

“Yeah it is, now come on, up with you.”

Keith reached down and pulled Lance upright. Lance glared at him the whole time, obviously agitated. The effect was lessened by Lance’s poofy bedhead and drooping eyelids. His clothes were rumpled from being slept in and his eyes weren’t really focussing but he was trying _really hard_ with the glare and Keith found himself smiling softly. “You aren’t all the way up, Lance, you can’t just _stop_.”

Lance snapped a bit more awake at that, murmuring an “I can do whatever I please, _you’re_ the one _forcing this on me_. I never _asked_ to be woken up.” Keith was smiling bigger now.

“Yeah, you did ask, like five minutes ago, now come on.”

Lance groaned but he pushed himself to his feet (where he wobbled on his balance for a second) and smoothed down his hair. Keith watched from the sidelines as Lance stumbled into Keith’s closet and reemerged a moment later with a blue t-shirt.

Lance proceeded to take his own shirt off and started fumbling with the blue one.

Keith turned his head away, stomach churning.

“What are you _doing_?” He forced out.

“Well, if I show up wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday, people will wonder.” He saw Lance turn out of the corner of his eye. He heard a chuckle. He didn’t like the sound of that.

“What, like what you see?” Lance’s voice was deeper. The knot in Keith’s stomach tightened.

“Well, I’m looking at the dirty floor, so _yeah_ , cause it sure beats watching you change.” Keith remarked, and was shocked when he heard a choking noise.

He looked back at Lance to see him half changed (putting on a shirt isn’t that hard Lance, just do it already), and red in the face.

“Keith you are _ruthless_ ,” Lance said, and Keith could hear the barely restrained laughter in his voice. Keith rolled his eyes again while Lance finished tugging on his shirt, and when he looked up a fully awake, completely new Lance from the one he’d woken up that morning stood before him.

They strolled to breakfast together, and Keith could see Lance glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Why do you keep looking at me? It’s weird,” Keith said. Lance recoiled, but recovered quickly with a smirk.

“Is that the sweater I found you last night? Lance asked. His voice was so smug Keith instantly wanted to deny everything.

“It’s an all-around feel-good item. I want to feel good all around. I don’t see a problem.” Lance hummed his agreement, but Keith could still hear the smugness in his voice.

“Well do you?”

“What?”

“Do you feel good all around when you’re wearing the sweater?” Lance asked, turning so he could fully face Keith, even though it meant he had to walk backwards.

Keith’s shoulders hunched up a little bit and he looked away from Lance, anywhere but Lance, and muttered something into the air.

“Hmmm? What was that Keith, couldn’t hear you,” Lance crooned. Keith scowled.

“Yes,” He said again, loud enough Lance would hear him. Lance smiled, and wicked as it was, there seemed to be some genuine happiness behind it. He spun again so he was walking next to Keith. The rest of the walk to the Dining Hall was spent in happy silence.

\--

Keith and Lance both hesitated when they realized they would have to split up and sit on the different sides of the table with their friends. Keith and Lance both berated themselves for acting weird and stepped forward to go to their friends. Keith and Lance both shot a backwards look at the other, and they made eye contact. They looked away.

Keith sat down with his brother and Swanky, and even though he would’ve expected to breathe a sigh of relief, he felt… heavier?

He decided to stop overthinking it.  
Kevin was glaring at Lance across the table. It was setting Keith on edge.

“Was he messing with you? Is that why you were late for breakfast? Just say the words and I will _annihilate_ him, Baby Brother, _just say the words_ -”

“Kevin, we were just hanging out and ended up walking to breakfast together, everything is fi-”

“Keith, blink twice if you’re in danger, but you can’t say.”

Keith huffed at his brother before turning back to his meal, wanting to just eat it and be _done_ so he could get out of the Dining Hall. It was suddenly too crowded.

He left for the training room, and nobody stopped him, so it was fine if he just took a sword to the fighter bots for a while. He could not express how grateful he was for that. All his wonderful peace and silence, however, was out the window when the rest of the Tributes came into the room. Especially when his brother came into the room with a profusely bleeding nose.

He ran up to Kevin and asked him what happened. His brother smirked.

“I confronted McClain about messing with you earlier. Together, he and his two friends _managed_ to get a lucky one right on my honker.” Keith couldn’t believe the words coming from Kevin’s mouth.

“He’s lying you know,” said Swanky, coming up from behind Kevin, “He made a comment that that Zarkon dude looked like a turtle and the guy with super fluffy ears punched him in the face.”

“It was exhilarating,” Kevin said through the blood pouring out of his snout.

“Your crush is showing,” Swanky deadpanned as he walked past.

Kevin made the most offended sound Keith had ever heard, and he ran to catch up with Swanky, saying “ _I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW-_ ”

Keith was caught with the choice of either going to catch up with them or doing his own thing with the fighter-bots, like before. Or-

“Hey Keith, want to train with us today?” asked a particularly Lance-like voice.

Or that, Keith supposed.

As much as he used to be uneasy around Lance, his gut didn’t churn like it did before. Or maybe he’d read it wrong before? Either way, spending time with the guy didn’t seem to have any real devastating downsides.

And that’s how Keith found himself training with Pidge, Hunk, and Lance.

They chose strange simulations and practices to do, but Keith found they highlighted a different part of his survival skills that he hadn’t thought to take into account.

“Lance, that is very obviously a poisonous mushroom and if you eat it now you won’t make it _to_ the Games, let alone _through_ the Games.”

That was Pidge. Pidge was easily the most hilarious of the trio (shut up, Lance) and on the smarter side. Keith couldn’t help but wonder how they’d do in the Games though, because glasses gave you an immediate disadvantage and their height and stature was in no way working to their advantage. But they seemed capable enough that Keith was convinced they’d make it pretty far, at least.

“Yeah, Lance, look at the coloration. Why don’t you pick up the obviously safer mushroom that was literally _right next to it_ and _put down the danger shroom_.”

Hunk was a different case. He was strong, but also strongly opposed to picking up or using weapons of any kind. He was obviously on the smarter side, and was a kind and open person, but in the Games those weren’t really the best character traits. Not that Keith didn’t admire them outside of the Arena.

Lance laughed at Hunk’s comment.

“I don’t know man, I’m actually _pretty sure_ this is just a colorful, completely edible mushroom. Mimicry and camouflage and all that. And _besides_ , go big or go home, that other one looks so _bland_ compared to this one.”

Ah yes, and Lance.

 

Anyway.

“Lance, the handbook says, ‘will paralyze the consumer immediately and they will die within thirty seconds of contact to the tongue’, _verbatim_. Don’t eat the shroom.”

Pidge turned their gaze to Keith, exasperated. Keith had to step in.

“Lance, if you don’t eat the shroom I promise not to tell them what happened last night,” Keith said.

Lance dropped the mushroom, and it splattered when it hit the floor. Hunk and Pidge’s collective “ _What_ ” and Lance’s strangled screaming created the most amusing dissonance Keith had heard in awhile. He grinned and watched as Hunk and Pidge rounded on a panicking Lance with a flurry of questions. The look on Pidge’s face was the scariest thing Keith had seen in awhile. It was _devious_. Hunk was buzzing.

“I mean, you used protection, right?”

Lance’s face went an alarming shade of red at that question, and he looked longingly at the splattered remains of his mushroom on the floor. Keith was going to bust his gut with all the laughing he was doing.

When did he start laughing?

It didn’t matter. He was happy.

\--

Later that day, the group’s training (Hunk and Lance were having a sword fight with a couple of sticks and Pidge was crying at Lance’s affectionate trash talk) was interrupted by Swanky and Kevin approaching them.

“My brotherly senses are tingling. Keith, it doesn’t look like you’re in any immediate danger. Unless McClain hits you with a stick. In which case I can pull an ‘En garde’ out of my back pocket and kick him into next Tuesday. What were we talking about?”

Keith didn’t know how to respond to that.

Pidge had stopped laughing and was looking at the new arrivals with a concentrated look

Keith didn’t know if he was surprised or not when a stick _flew through the air_ and Kevin caught it before it hit Keith’s face.

They all turned to see Lance red in the face and sheepish, and most importantly, stickless. Hunk was looking at Lance, fondly exasperated.

“Congratulations McClain, you won the javelin toss,” Kevin said as he handed the stick back to Lance. Pidge was still studying him.

“Thanks for saving my life,” Keith drawled out, “but what are you doing here? Don’t you have better things to do than follow me around?”

“Nope,” Kevin said, crossing his arms and popping the ‘p’. He had an evil smirk on his face. Keith sighed and put his face in his hands.

“Everyone,” he announced through his fingers, “this is my brother, Kevin, and Swanky, his fellow Tribute.”

“Well I’m Hunk, that’s Lance, and that’s Pidge.”

Keith heaved a sigh and looked up to see all of them chatting amicably. Lance had his easy grin dancing on his face, and he wasn’t making _really_ stupid jokes, so Keith decided moderation on him was unnecessary.

Pidge was a bit of cause for worry, though. They weren’t talking or taking part in the conversation as much as they usually would, no correcting on grammar or slamming Lance’s humor. Keith would think that with Kevin and Swanky adding to the conversation they would just have more things to comment on (or snark about), but there was next to nothing from them as they just observed the discussion with a strange look on their face.

Hunk was welcoming to Kevin and Swanky, talking with them easily.

Kevin was making as many bad jokes as possible. With each one, Lance’s eyes lit up. Keith refused to admit they were starry.

**-Pidge-**

Pidge had been surprised to say the _least_ when Lance and Keith walked into breakfast together. They started getting what was going on at the snuck glance they shared.

When Lance stole Keith to come hang out and train with the three of them for the day, Pidge was even more surprised, but it confirmed their suspicions. Keith wasn’t bad though. He was on the quieter side and knew how to put Lance back in his place. He was skilled, too. Pidge didn’t mind spending the day around him as much as they thought they would.

But the alarms started going off with Keith’s brother.

“Brotherly senses” or no, that wasn’t luck. Something pulled Kevin over. But what shocked Pidge the most was that he had _caught the stick._

Pidge had seen Keith in the training simulations. He was crazy good with a sword. He had lightning reflexes. He hadn’t even seen the stick _coming_ , _let_ _alone_ started to _dodge it._

Yet Kevin had _caught_ it? From midair?

What were the Kogane siblings, exactly?

Pidge started studying Kevin and Swanky. Something was off about them. Something had to be. It could be a small thing, it probably _was_ a small thing. But Pidge knew they were missing something, they could sense it. There was a hidden piece to this puzzle, and it was critical.

Kevin was too easygoing, for one. The situation they were in was a high-stress one to put it bluntly, but he didn’t seem to worry at all about it. Pidge understood that people sometimes dealt with stress by repressing it, or deluding themselves, but the hands constantly in pockets and swinging, superior attitude pointed to him hiding something.

He was overconfident. His smile had something behind it. His half lidded eyes saw more than he let on. His jokes were a ruse.

Pidge knew these things for sure, and couldn’t tell whether or not they could trust Kevin. Fundamentally, they were _all_ hiding something. Pidge hid their sex, Pidge hid their age, Pidge repressed their anxiety. Pidge hid their fear and their anger. It was easier pretending that life was just… going on.

Hunk was hiding something from his past, and changed conversation when they brought up family. Pidge knew he was hiding and repressing his anxiety too.

Lance was similar. He had insecurities and abandonment issues, and pent everything up behind a smile and a poor joke.

Everyone had things they were hiding. But Kevin’s was… _different_. Pidge supposed it had something to do with his aura. There were little things he was giving off, and Pidge was probably aware of them on a subconscious level, which would explain why they couldn’t quite put their finger on why something was up with Kevin.

It clicked when the group started joking about Kevin’s bloody nose and the fight he’d gotten in at breakfast.

Kevin moved in a similar way to Zarkon and his groupies, with a trained and intimidating grace. Smooth walk, shoulders back, on the balls of his feet ready for an attack, coiled muscles ready to spring out and make any movement at any direction any second, but repressed and relaxed.

Kevin moved like a Career.

Which meant he’d either been training for this his whole life, or had a _really rough life._

From the smile on Keith’s face and unintimidating attitude, Pidge could assume it was the latter. If Kevin was training, Keith would’ve been too. So what have those two been through? What has _Kevin_ been through?

Most importantly, what would Kevin put all of _them_ through?

\--

The group stayed together for the rest of the day, and it seemed that Kevin, Swanky and Keith were there to stay, at least over the course of the training.

None of them thought about what would end up happening in the Games. None of them wanted to.

Swanky didn’t speak much, and when he did, it wasn’t in English. He seemed to be there solely for being with Kevin. The two exchanged hushed whispers in a strange language from time to time. None of them really minded. Keith still didn’t talk much either, but it was painfully obvious how much, the four of them at least, derived comfort simply from being in each other’s presence. The friendship was easy and natural. They left it at that.

Pidge was still uneasy around Kevin, and by extension, Swanky. Those two were downright _suspicious_. They knew Hunk had noticed too, but he didn’t say anything or act any differently.

Sometimes, Hunk astounded them.

Pidge was already tired out when Kevin suggested the physical training that they, Hunk, and Lance had been shying away from. Exertion sounded… not fun. To all of them. It had been a mutual, unspoken agreement.

But Pidge also wanted to see Kevin and Swanky in action. It would tell them more. They shared a look with Lance and Hunk before complying, reluctantly.

Working out with their chest bound was going to be _awful_.

Pidge let out a sigh of resignation and dragged their feet behind the confidently moving Kevin, followed quickly by the rest of the group.

**-Dex-**

Quite frankly, he could only be suspicious of everybody else in the training room.

He knew they’d all be in the Arena sooner or later, and when it came down to it, only one was coming out (ha, that’s gay).

Getting a partner or forming an alliance _could_ be in his best interest, and he knew that, but in the end, one of them would have to die. And he _wouldn’t_ be responsible for his partner’s death, he wouldn’t.

So teaming up with anybody was impossible, really. Really. _Really_.

He had to repeat it because _some part of his brain just wasn’t getting it._

As logical as he was, as much as he _knew_ that teaming up with _anyone_ was a bad idea, he still wanted to. He _still_ wanted to find a Tribute to team up with.

The large groups seemed like too much to him, and everyone pretty much already had established allies. He knew he was making his decision late. He knew that this wasn’t something he could go back on.

He knew that he’d regret it in the Arena if he didn’t have a partner.

The only other Tribute that was currently running solo was Alena, from his District.

He found irony in the fact that the two loners came from the same place, the two who didn’t team happened to be by-default partners (that’s what Tributes from the same District do, right? They team up?). They’d just both decided… not to.

But now Dex realized that he kind of wanted to, for the companionship if nothing else.

But he also didn’t know how he really felt about Alena. They were… cold. Sure, Dex had never tried approaching them, but they had never tried approaching him.

Besides, they always have this closed off look on their face and a guarded stance. He could tell they had a sort of one-track mind.

He saw some of the other Tributes eyeing Alena distrustfully a few times. He’d heard whispers among the Mentors of a “Night of no stars”, whatever that meant.

He’d gathered enough to understand they were referencing Alena, in some way.

Alena was skilled, just in general. Not only with every weapon, though they seemed to prefer throwing knives, but also in fighting and simulations and trivia. It was like they were some machine, they were so smart.

So Dex had every reason not to trust them. All evidence pointed to **_\--STAY AWAY--._** But Dex also realized that he had every reason to need to trust them.

They were good. Really good. If anyone were to be on Dex’s side, he would hope it was Alena.

 _Maybe_ , Dex reasoned, _I should just establish ties. So that a partnership is available._

He found himself thinking of different ways he could approach them, talk to them, explain to them his thought process.

He almost shut the thoughts off, cut them off at the root to leave well enough alone.

But he also really didn’t want to be alone in the Arena, not the entire time.

He still didn’t trust Alena, but they were his best shot. Besides, no night is truly without stars, as much as we believe it.

\--

At the meal that night, Dex gritted his teeth and sat down next to Alena. They looked up from their food to give him a calculating look, but quickly looked back to their food. The two ate side by side in silence.

Dex was surprised when Alena didn’t finish their food.

“You aren’t going to eat it all?” He asked, sheer surprise overriding his common sense.

“We’re going into the Arena soon,” Alena responded, “we need to keep fit and healthy for that.”

“Well yeah, but we’ll also have a lot less food once we’re in the Arena, and we should get as much meat on our bones as we can while we have the opportunity so we have extra energy to run off of once we’re out of sustenance,” Dex argued.

“I suppose,” Alena said coldly, starting to turn away, “but I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Dex fumbled. “I’ll be fine too,” he said in a rush, “but don’t you think we’ll be more fine if we… work together?” He hated the words as they came out of his mouth. He didn’t trust them. But he still needed at least _one_ ally.

“That’s… contrary to my beliefs. Working with somebody else drags you down, by the nature of the partnership,” Alena said slowly.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Dex jumped in, “so I simply propose a truce. We don’t kill each other.”

Alena paused, and they seemed to be considering his offer, not that he could tell.

“All right,” they said, hesitation obvious in their voice.

Dex was surprised they accepted his offer. But he wouldn’t complain. He turned back to his plate and called for seconds as Alena walked away.

He wouldn’t be _completely_ alone in the Arena, if he had an ally somewhere.

**-Pawn-**

Pawn never wanted to be a part of any of this.

He’d grown up in District 9 as the runt of the family, and having ex-Galra for parents. He’d loved his family anyways, as a child, because what else was he supposed to do? Wasn’t love through families unconditional?

Apparently not. His family kicked him out of the house. And he ran.

He ran far away from his home, but he couldn’t leave the wheat fields. They were his escape. He’d take a book out and lay hidden from the world in the tall grass. The wind would blow the stalks gently, and it tickled. The dirt was warm and soft. He spent every minute he could in the wheat fields, either with a book or just lazily dreaming and watching the clouds while smelling the freshly baked bread from the house.

He’d lost all that, but he wouldn’t lose the fields.

He found work, cared for himself. Things were okay.

But his parents came back for him. None of his other siblings had made it up the Galran ranks. It had to be him. They didn’t beg for him to come back, they told him he would be returning.

He loved them. He followed them.

From then on they raised him to be Galran, in thought, in act, in demeanor.

They raised him to be ruthless and powerful, slightly bloodthirsty and completely condescending.

But they couldn’t take away his wheat fields and blue skies. He still went out every day, even if it was on limited time.

Eventually they shipped him off to the Capitol to become an official part of the Galra. They’d forced him away from his fields. He never felt more lost.

He felt alone and scared and a little bit numb as the time went by and he raised in rank in the Galra. Fake it til you make it, they say. He hid his smile behind a sneer and traded the twinkle in his eye for a burning fire. He kept his favourite books on the nightstand of his room. They reminded him that he drank water, not blood.

Then he found himself running the Games. He found himself at the Gamemaster’s panel, in the Gamemaster’s office, looking down at Tributes who were his age.

People who were his age.

He was shaken. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know what he was doing here, subjecting these people to their deaths.

They didn’t deserve it. Nobody deserved this.

Was this what he had been supporting and driving all these years? Because he was done. Pawn wouldn’t stand for this.

He drank water, not blood.

He broke them out. He almost died. His arm was gone. His books were still on his nightstand, but he was sprinting through the woods and away from the Capitol. North. He could hide. He needed to hide.  
In the past, he would’ve hidden in wheat fields. But suddenly his fields were burning, and he had to see through the smoke.

The next couple of years of his life had been like he was living in Hell.

Though where he was now was barely any better.

He was sitting bait for the Arena, only _waiting_ for the Games to start at this point. They could train all they wanted, he knew he was going to die.

He made a promise to himself then and there that he wasn’t going to kill anyone.

Pawn knew that pulling off another revolution would be close to impossible. He knew he was being closely watched. He knew that he would die. He was strangely okay with all of these things, and chose to keep going.

If they pulled off their plans, the revolution would be bigger this time. It would be Revolution. The Districts would fight against the oppression. The people would rise. The Galra would fall.

Pawn was well aware that that was worth his life.

If what him and Thace were coordinating with Kevin and Swanky went well, it could change Panem. They _did_ need to get more people in on it though. There was no way they could do this alone.

Kevin had his little brother. His little brother had friends. Could they just recruit all the Tributes? It would be easier.

Pawn didn’t want to be planning a revolution again. Pawn didn’t want to be responsible for all these people again. Pawn didn’t want this, Pawn didn’t want any of this. Pawn wanted wheat fields and books, and clouds and blue sky. He wanted the smell of freshly baked bread and somebody who actually loved him by his side, for once.

Pawn learned long ago that what he wanted didn’t matter.

Pawn learned long ago how to get over it.

Pawn learned long ago how to throw a punch.

Pawn learned long ago how to receive one.

He still felt like he was going to be sick every time he walked into the training room, the stench of sweat and blood and stress was overwhelming.

He didn’t go _near_ any of the weapons, as much as Thace tried to get him to. He just did some exercise or trivia, working with mushrooms or something. It wasn’t like he didn’t have survival skills.

He wondered how much he even wanted them anymore.

Pawn was planning a revolution.

Pawn was falling with the martyrs.

**-Alena-**

Night of No Stars. A moniker gifted to them by the Galra. They wanted nothing more than to be rid of it.

But they also didn’t. Alena guessed that was the problem. They didn’t know what they wanted.

They wanted people to get their pronouns right. They wanted people to let them alone. They wanted freedom.

They wanted to go home.

And the Galra would let them do that. The Galra would get them home.

The only thing they had to do for the Galra was, well, anything they were told to do. If they were told to dance, they would dance. If they were told to escort, they would escort. If they were told to guard, they would guard.

If they were told to kill, they would kill.

Night of No Stars. The Galra could mean anything by that, and Alena had no clue as to what they were alluding to when they tagged them with such an alias. Their grim determination? Their zero-in focus on their goal?

What could the Galra mean by ‘Night of No Stars’?

Alena wondered this every time they were addressed by it. They never dared to ask.

Alena began to associate the name with coldness, emptiness. It made logical sense. Whenever they began to feel something that would distract them from their mission- empathy, pain, affection, camaraderie, anything- they would remember their title. They would shut it down. Cold, empty.

It was only at night in bed when they were staring at the ceiling that they felt any regret for this, any feeling they couldn’t shut down. They looked up at the ceiling in the dark and wondered where the stars were.

They mourned the loss of their own identity, of their feelings, of their home.

Their brother would never do this to himself, he’d never fall to the ideals that were forced upon them all.

He’d have never stopped fighting.

He’d have never let them do this to themself.

They had to admit that they missed him.

Nobody else had tried approaching them since their brother. Everybody left them to their own devices, everybody avoided them, and for good reason. Alena believed themself to be intimidating and cold, naturally separated from the crowd.

They were a night of no stars.

The sky was lonely without stars.

But Alena was downright _shocked_ when Dexter sat down next to them. The two looked at each other quickly, then ignored each other for the duration of the meal.

Alena didn’t know how to react when Dexter stopped them. When he proposed… a _truce_? They knew what to say. No. Anything like that was liable to interfere with the mission. They wouldn’t go back on any alliance they made, so they figured that they just… wouldn’t make an alliance.

But Alena found themself saying yes.

Dexter could’ve wanted the truce for any reason, he had seen their skill and wanted them on his side, he’d been scared, he’d thought they were scared or lonely and wanted to help out, _anything_.

But regardless of reason, Alena found themself thinking Dexter was genuine. He was being kind, it wasn’t only because of their skill set.

He saw beyond their training. He’d looked into a night of no stars and _seen something._

So Alena said yes. 

Alena would not kill him.

**-Pitt-**

Pitt was so tired.

He tried, and he tried, and he _tried_. He tried until he was lost, until he was left raw and bleeding. He tried until the clock stopped ticking and until his eyes stopped opening and until his lungs stopped working and his heart stopped beating.

He tried until he couldn’t try anymore, and still then, he tried.

He tried for his family, for his friends. He tried for the people that needed him, he tried for the people that hated him.

His sister, Sashi, told him to stop. Begged him to stop. Forced him to stop.

He still tried.

He’d always gotten sleep in chunks, a couple of hours at a time before he couldn’t sleep anymore. He had too many things to take care of. Too much to do. Much too much to do.

He pretended his limbs shook from uncontained energy. He pretended his smile was weak from overuse. He pretended because he needed to keep going. He needed to try.

Nobody understood why Pitt didn’t stop. Why he didn’t take any sort of break.

He couldn’t tell them about the way his chest felt crushed, the way he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t tell them about the weight he felt on his shoulders, about the crack in his back. He couldn’t tell them how every move was labor.

He felt the crushing words of everyone, every time one was spoken.

“You can’t do it.”

“You’re good for nothing.”

“You dream too big.”

“Nobody cares about you.”

“Nobody cares about this.”

“Nobody cares.”

“ _You can’t do it_.”

The words were his burden. The words were his cross to bear. He was going to prove them wrong. It was the only thing he could do at this point. It kept him going. It kept him working. It kept him trying.

He tried because what else could he do?  
The people needed somebody. The Districts needed revolution. Pitt knew that this had all gone on too long, that what was going on was _outrageous_.

Everybody ignored him and went back to raising livestock. Because even though their lives weren’t good, their lives were good _enough_. And they could live with good enough. They could make it from day to day. They didn’t mind starving that much, or overworking, or not getting enough sleep, or being denied funds.

And you know, Pitt could see it. He could see where they were coming from. He wouldn’t be entirely opposed to this in another life. Things weren’t _that_ bad.

But the Games were bad enough that he drew the line.

He _would not_ put up with the Games. He would not let the Capitol get away with ritually killing 23 _kids_ every year in order to sate their bloodlust. It was _disgusting_.

As strongly as he felt, he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t rest. He couldn’t stop. A few people understood. A lot of people didn’t. He could only keep going, and take the added weight to his shoulders, take the extra pressure on his chest.

Things only escalated. After awhile, he began to forget to eat. Didn’t even consider sleep until he was passed out. Abandoned his chores altogether to attend to more important things. Sashi screamed at him. Not for the extra work. Because she was worried. She locked him in his room. He broke down the door. She threatened to tie him to a chair. He walked past her and paid no mind.

In the end, it was Xan. Xan, as always, took care of him. Xan got him to eat (force fed him at points), Xan got him to sleep (literally had to _hold him down_ ).

Xan took the screaming in his ears and smiled through it. Xan smiled, because he knew it would keep Pitt going. He knew he would keep Pitt going.

Xan had, throughout their entire childhood, done just that. As much as he threw mud in Pitt’s face, he also picked Pitt up out of it. Xan helped Pitt with his chores, cooked him food when he forgot to. Xan hugged him when the weight was too much. Xan held him when he was falling.

Xan sat and nodded when Pitt was ranting, Xan looked on while Pitt was planning. He ran around with Pitt, helped him with anything he would need. Xan felt just as strongly as Pitt, but managed to be reasonable about it.

Pitt could only be grateful.

But. Every plan he made, every feeling he had, every smile he had was _annihilated_ when Xan had been Reaped.

There was suddenly too much weight on Pitt’s shoulders. Too much pressure on his chest. He was falling, falling, falling.

He stepped forward to volunteer. There was literally no other choice. Xan was _not_ going into the Games, not if they beat Pitt to the ground and made him bleed and bruise, not if they burned him to ashes and strangled the air out of him, not if they smirked as they watched him scream, Pitt _would not_ let Xan into the Games. Not over his _dead body_.

Xan made eye contact with him. Pitt tried to convey love and comfort, tried to calm him down, tried to tell him everything would be okay. He would make it okay.

Everything would be okay. _Everything would be okay._

Xan shook his head. Pitt felt himself falling again. He went numb as cold blood shot through his veins and he felt a pain split his head. _Xan wouldn’t let him volunteer._ The Tribute could refuse the volunteer. Xan wouldn’t let him. _Why wouldn’t Xan let him._

He watched in agony as Xan walked up to the stage, escorted by guards. He stood and looked over the gathered District.

Pitt tried to make eye contact with him again, tried to get Xan to at least _look at him._

Xan’s eyes stayed pointedly away from Pitt’s section of the crowd.

So Pitt volunteered for the girl. The man in charge of the Reaping looked too done with life (and high) to care. He walked right up to the stage and stood with Xan.

He didn’t have to look to see the betrayed look on his face. He knew what he’d done to Xan.

If their roles had been reversed, he’d be so mad at Xan he would be able to conquer the entire Capitol and be back in time to milk the cow from the sheer power of his rage. Sadly, Xan was not him and controlled his emotions in a, er, more _mature_ fashion.

He and Xan didn’t look at each other for the duration of the instructions. Through the meal. He knew that Xan would continue to ignore him out of spite unless he made the first move. He did feel a little bad.

He had gone to Xan’s room and apologized. They talked through the night. Xan asked him why he did it. Pitt was basically leaving behind everything, everything he had loved, everything he had a passion for, everyone he loved. Everything he had worked for. It was all worth nothing now. _Nothing_.

Xan was murderous in his anger, but he repressed it. Started getting over it. See how Pitt reacted. See his side of the story. Pitt could tell these things.

Pitt only stared at the ceiling. He breathed deeply. Tried to work off the pressure on his chest, the weight on his shoulders.

He’d left behind Sashi. He’d left behind his heifers and hens, his rolling fields and mountains, his years of blood and sweat and tears and life’s work, _he’d left behind Sashi._

He’d dropped it all without a second thought for Xan. Because Xan would do it for him. Because Xan _had_ done worse for him. He wouldn’t let Xan face this. That failed. So he wouldn’t let Xan face this alone. Never.

He’d die for Xan, he’d known that for years.

Now it looked like he would be.

\--

Pitt worked himself in the training, worked himself to a breaking point. He’d done it before and he’d do it again.

Habits like that are hard to ditch, and right now holding onto them was in his best interest. Xan was exasperated and becoming more and more tired of his antics. He kept at it anyway.

There was a massive language barrier. Pitt spent all night trying to learn what everyone else was speaking, and taught it to Xan when they met up together for training. People had tried talking to them. Everyone in the room looked nice enough (except Districts 5 and 7, those Tributes were straight up _weird_ ) (and by weird he means scary).

Pitt didn’t stop trying. He learned he was good at languages. Like, really good. He had a knack for it. Xan was struggling to learn English, but it was working out. Pitt studied other languages that were related to his own, saw how far back the history went, looked at how the migration patterns must have worked for there to be arrangements like that. It interested him. It distracted him.

He heard the Tributes from District 12 speaking a strange language. He spent two whole nights looking into it.

He didn’t refer to Xan before approaching the tall one from 12. He almost wanted to test out his skills at learning the cousin language, but he also figured that gaining any sort of ally wouldn’t hurt.

This would either go _really well_ or, well, the training room might be set on fire.

Pitt realized it was one or the other. Pitt didn’t know which one he wanted to be the outcome.

The Tribute recoiled when Pitt spoke a greeting in the strange dialect. There were a few tense seconds of a small staredown, until he responded in kind, giving his name. He was still obviously slightly disturbed.

Pitt took a deep breath and kept going.

As much as he wished otherwise, it couldn’t just be him and Xan against the world. This language was easier to learn than English. Not that he’d given up on everyone else.

No, Pitt was only starting.

**-Swanky-**

Swanky didn’t know what he was doing 98% of the time. It was a fun hobby of his. Roll with the flow, one might say.

But he had no idea things would escalate to this. As a kid, if you asked him where he thought he’d be in a couple of years, he wouldn’t have come _close_ to thinking he’d find himself here.

Sculpting a revolution in Panem for a bunch of strangers. Facing the Arena with a trickle of panic running through his veins. Working to keep his smile up. Working to keep his body moving. Crying out in the middle of the night to the darkness that surrounded him, suffocated him. Working with Kevin.

He was glad that Kevin had the language translators. In a spur of the moment decision, he decided he would only speak in his native language when he was shipped off to the Games. It was an act of defiance. It was a way to keep a hold of himself. It was a way to annoy people to kingdom come. He appreciated all of these things.

He had been faithful to his whim, finding nobody in particular he wanted to talk to, besides Kevin, which was obvious. Had been obvious for years.

The translator only made things easier, quite simply. Even when Kevin asked, he refused to switch to English. Even when the Mentors threatened, he refused to switch to English.

Joke’s on them, you can’t threaten a man who has nothing to lose.

He couldn’t help but wonder what the other Tributes were doing with themselves. He had nothing to lose, they all had nothing to lose. Literally. At this point they could do _anything_. And they chose to follow the path marked out for them with glowing lights. People didn’t make sense to him.

He only sat back and let Kevin do the work. It was the easiest thing he could do.

He didn’t acknowledge the itch in his limbs to do _something_. Last time he did anything, it failed. Drastically. It backfired.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake, so he sat back and let the world play by itself.

The last time he interfered was the _last time_ he interfered. That was his rule (he ignored the voice in the back of his head telling him that a revolution was interference) (he also ignored the voice in the back of his head telling him he was losing time and needed to do _something_ if he wanted to see any change) (he ignored the voice in the back of his head in general).

He was more than shocked when the Tribute from 10 approached him.

Generally people stayed away. He was _astonished_ when he started speaking the same language as Swanky.

Kevin had made a translator. This kid downright _learned his language_.

Swanky responded carefully, slowly.

The kid introduced himself, talked to him.

Swanky denied the fact that he was starting to feel an inkling of something.

Nope. Nope nope nope. Nope.

He hated everyone. He wanted no part in anything. Kevin dragged him places. He only made jokes to keep up an act. He didn’t care. He didn’t have emotions.

Nope.

_This kid learned his language just to speak to him and he was starting to feel actual things. This was not in the plan._

He’d suppressed everything for so long. Every feeling. Feelings were dangerous. Didn’t let himself think “they were nice” or “they look nice” or “I want to be nice to them”.

Kevin _dragged_ him everywhere. He didn’t want a part in revolution. He didn’t care about the future of Panem. He didn’t care about anyone in this room, anyone on the continent. He _didn’t care._

He didn’t care about people’s ability to be kind or nice. To be loving. To burn with fire. To smile with light. He didn’t care about their passion, or determination. Their ability to press onward, to find light when there was only darkness. He didn’t care about their ability to learn, to love, to try, to care.

He didn’t care. _He didn’t care._

Please, dear God, let him not care.

Not care about Pitt, who was apprehensive and tense.

Not care about Kevin, who was strong and determined.

Not care about Kevin’s little brother, who was gentle and fierce at the same time.

Not care about any of the bright-eyed kids in this room, laughing and _trying_.

Not caring about the people of Panem, laboring day to day and not sleeping by the end, but still going. Still going.

Not care.

Not care.

Lord, help him not care about the last time he messed up, otherwise he would do it again, because _so help him he was joining the game again,_ and he was going to _win_ this time.

He never would have thought he’d be here in a couple of years.

**-Xan-**

Xan had dug his grave a long time ago.

You see, it all started when he went up to this kid ( _something_ about the kid had caught his eye, and to this day he still couldn’t figure out what), held out his hand in greeting, and said hello. It was a simple enough thing, it was common.

Nothing out of place here.

That kid happened to be Pitt.

His life was never the same after that day, because Pitt was in it.

Pitt changed Xan’s life with his personality and his goals, his charisma and his hopes, with his fight and his valor. Pitt changed Xan’s life with the fire in his eyes and the smirk on his lips, and the passion he held for anything he believed in.

Xan had supported Pitt, had cared for him when he didn’t care for himself. He had no excuse for this. He had no reason for this.

Love doesn’t need reason. Love doesn’t need explanation. Love doesn’t _have_ explanation.

He did it because he loved Pitt. Not romantically, not because of a crush, but when you grow up with somebody, you come to love them after a while and you’re willing to shout it to the world. So yes, Xan loved Pitt. Pitt was his best friend. He would do anything for Pitt. He’d take a bullet for Pitt (he _had_ taken a bullet for Pitt, but shh, he didn’t know about that one and Xan would like to keep it that way).

Xan couldn’t stress enough or explain the bond he had with Pitt. He had no siblings, so he didn’t know if it was familial. He didn’t particularly care, as long as he got to spend time with Pitt. As long as he could help Pitt.

Pitt was so much of everything, Pitt had so much to do with everything, it was nice to be even a part of it. It was nice being a witness to his fire. It was nice.

He lived the best childhood he could’ve possibly asked for. Of course he did.

Every child with a best friend, at some point, just lies in the grass with them and looks up at the sky in silence and thinks, _wow, it couldn’t get any better than this._

But the teen years was when Pitt started changing. Not that change was a bad thing. Pitt was a bad thing. Pitt was a bad thing for himself. He lost all self-preservation, lost all need to care for himself, apparently. He stopped drinking, stopped eating, either didn’t move for hours at a time or didn’t keep still for hours at a time. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t stop.

Xan had to moderate him. He was worried about his friend. He knew there was nothing he could do. He wouldn’t stand for that. He made it so there was something he could do.

He was like Pitt, in that way.

Things had been going good _enough_ until he’d been Reaped. His world splintered and fell into shards around him. He walked towards the stage calmly, holding himself together by fraying threads.

He made eye contact with Pitt. He wanted to say goodbye in that glance, since it would be the last time they would see each other (because who were they kidding, Xan wasn’t coming out of the Arena). But Pitt wanted something else.

He could see it in his eyes the moment he looked.

Pitt couldn’t even let a man have his final moments, could he? Of course Pitt would try to volunteer for him, because he’s a selfless idiot that actually cares about Xan.

Too bad the exact feelings are reciprocated from Xan’s side, and there was no way in hell Xan was letting Pitt volunteer for him.

He didn’t look at Pitt once he was on the stage. It hurt too much. Everything hurt too much, but he wasn’t feeling nearly enough. He needed more pain. He needed to wake up. Anything.

Pitt volunteered for the girl and stepped up on stage.

 _I take back the anything,_ Xan prayed frantically, _whoever put him on this stage, take him back off it immediately. Redo, redo!_

He looked carefully away from Pitt. He couldn’t stand the pain of looking him in the eyes right now.

\--

In the end, when all the gods were gathered and all the dead were caught in shelves of armies decorating the walls of the afterlife, or having been turned into stars, the gods would proclaim, “English is the most stupid language you humans have come up with yet. And the French language was invented when the people were drunk on too many grapes. English is still dumber. Nobody should have to learn English. English should not be the default. Delete English, somebody, please.”

Xan believed that the people would cheer, and him the loudest.

English was an awful language. He couldn’t learn it. But also learning it was imperative to his survival. So… he had to learn it.

Pitt kept trying to teach it to him, but it wasn’t working out very well. He didn’t understand the language. It was sporadic, it had no reason to it, the words were made of mismatches. It was a melting pot of a language, and the resulting meal smelled like old shoe and lizard pee. It related _not at all_ to any other language regularly spoken, didn’t share the same roots as any of them.

It was a language that was literally built on miscommunications and spellings, and probably people who had nothing better to do than smoke strange plants and play polo with pitchforks. It was the wallflower of languages. If it went to the language party, nobody would talk to it, and it didn’t even have that “I’m not like other languages” mystique and wonder to it. It was just crappy. None of the other languages tried to dance with English because it wasn’t even wearing a dress, just an old ratty shirt that looked like it had urine stains. It would walk down a path and the plants on either side of the walk would wither.

Xan would bet _money_ that in a movie of languages, English was the villain.

English was that one annoying neighbor that always burnt the brownies and came home drunk and shouting at four in the morning, and had like nine dogs that never stopped barking, and always accidentally set of the car alarm. English was the kiddie coaster at the amusement park, so to say, nobody was amused. Only frustrated. English was a waste of money.

_Xan really hated the English language._

These were the thoughts running through his head as he sat in his bed, staring through bleary eyes at the screen in front of him, studying the the words. He could barely make out the sentences. He could barely understand them. The grammar was all over the place.

Some things were on the simpler side.

A lot of things weren’t.

Even though he only needed the basics (and more than the basics, but he needed to start on the basics), and he’d learned other languages before, English was _different_. It was _hard_. It was the challenge that spurred him onwards. He promised himself he’d learn English, and somebody needed to keep their promises to him. If he couldn’t keep promises to himself, he couldn’t trust himself, and then where’d he be?

So he needed to learn English. No big deal. Not too hard. Just an all-nighter.

According to the clock, it was only ten o’clock.

It was going to be a long night.

\--

Several cups of coffee (excessive amounts but don’t tell Pitt, he’d be worried, that hypocrite) and a few bouts of colorful cursing later, something clicked. He _physically felt_ his brain change, he could remember the _exact moment_ he went “Oh. _Oh. Oh! Aha_!”

He poured through the websites, and it was still far from easy. But it was easier. And he could work with easier (not to say he didn’t have more curse out sessions and hatefully bash the language in his head, because he did, multiple times).

He looked up and there was sunlight coming in through the window. In the back of his mind, he processed the breakfast bell was ringing.

 _Now say it in English,_ he told himself.

The bell for breakfast was ringing.

_The bell for breakfast was ringing._

He tried saying it out loud. The vowels were foreign on his tongue, the sounds shaped weird in his mouth. He could barely concentrate, he was so tired. But he could speak the God-forsaken language of English. _He could do it._

He greeted Pitt in English when he got to the Dining Hall. He was too tired to process the dumbfounded look on his face. He almost fell forward into his plate and slept on his food.

He was so exhausted, mentally and physically. He just wanted to sleep for a few days, please and thank you.

Pitt looked concerned for him, kept stealing glances and not-so-subtly scanning to see if he was okay.

Xan only took another sip of coffee.

\--

There was one person in particular that Xan wanted to talk to. Now that he could (apparently) speak English, he kept looking for opportunities to approach him. There was something about his body language that made him seem approachable? Honestly Xan just wanted to blame it on intuition. No matter the reason, he wanted to talk to him.

In the end, Xan lost all pretense of trying to be poised about it because he didn’t get any sleep last night and he just wants to talk he shouldn’t have to be strategic to the point of war plans in order to have a conversation with somebody, especially not after having spent all night learning their language so he could.

Pitt went off to do something or another, and Xan was too tired to be concerned about the idiot getting himself in trouble (in hindsight, a bad choice, but he didn’t have enough coffee to deal with this).

Xan just put down his weights (when did he pick up weights? How had he been holding weights? He could barely hold up his own muscle mass) and stood up, and stretched himself out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Now, in English.

_Breathe in, breathe out._

He could do this.

Xan strolled across the room to the Tributes from District 9, who were doing little more than tying knots in a corner (he was too tired to notice that they were, in fact, doing more than tying knots in a corner). He sat down with them, picked up some yarn, and started working on one of the knots on the screen.

The Tributes looked at him pointedly. He was too tired to care. He turned back to look at them, giving them a smile, and held out his left arm for the subject of his efforts to shake. After all, he could see that he had lost his right arm.

He looked surprised at Xan’s gesture, turned to give a pointed look at his partner before reaching to shake hands with Xan. Xan noticed the other Tribute getting up and sauntering away. It was now or never.

“He- hello. I’m Xan,” he said carefully. It probably came out sounding more like a question. 9 looked surprised, then happy. His face lit up.

“Hey! I’m Pawn,” Pawn responded. Xan exhaled. He could do this. It was working. English may be the worst language ever, but he would not let it conquer him. He would not fall to something as folly as the English language (because truly, if anything was folly, it was the English language).

“How a-are you?” he asked. He was growing in confidence, but the words were still weird. He had to retrain his mouth to make these strange sounds.

Pawn laughed. “As good as anyone could be in my situation.” Xan nodded. He understood. _He understood._

“So… you’ve managed to learn English?” Pawn asked. Xan tilted his head back and groaned.

“You have _no idea_ how hard it was. I didn’t sleep last night.” It was rushed and awkward in a few places, but in the end he was just getting the words out. Pawn chuckled.

“Well, nice to meet ya. I’m guessing you’re here cause I seemed the most approachable?” Xan shrugged at the comment.

“To be honest I’ve no idea why you were my first choice. Just were.” Pawn adopted a contemplative look at his comment.

“How… how do you feel about the Capitol?” Pawn asked. “I would usually be more tactful about this but I did not get enough sleep last night.”

Xan made a sympathetic noise at his last comment.

He was thinking about ways he could tell Pawn about his childhood, about the arrangements he and Pitt had made, about the way Pitt had burned with fire, about how Xan had burned in the same way. Tell about his beliefs, all he’s sacrificed for them, everything he’s done since the moment he could.

“Are you asking a Tribute from a poor District who is facing the Hunger Games how he feels about the Capitol?”

“Fair point,” Pawn sat for a moment, staring at a place on the wall, humming a bit under his breath.

“How would you feel if I told you there was a revolution being planned. One that needed more people in on it.” Xan felt something for a moment. A crushing wave of hope. Pawn was tense and waiting for an answer. Waiting. Waiting.

Pitt would love this. Revolution was right up his alley. But, even better, it was right up _both_ their alleys. The could both plausibly get out of this alive.

_They could both get out of this alive.  
_

All while rebelling against the Capitol, like they’d always meant to. If this was a high-scale thing, it wouldn’t just be him and Pitt against the world. The odds were in their favour. Even though by volunteering Pitt left behind his life’s work, _it could all be revived._ This could rekindle Pitt’s fire. This could be the chance they were waiting for.

“I would ask how we could join.”

**-Shiro-**

Their Mentors were bringing new meaning to the word stress. Training was extensive, but so was self care. Shower in the morning. Eat nutritiously. Shiro knew why. It was because the interviews were coming up. The interviews would, essentially, make or break them in the Arena. Whether they wanted to acknowledge it or not, the supplies sent in to them was what kept them going at times.

Not to mention, Mentors tended to be pettily competitive, pointing out whose Tributes performed better, whose Tributes ran faster. It could be a ploy to get the kids more competitive, but in the end it just made the Mentors look more childish.

Shiro couldn’t figure out whether the person who ran the Games was an idiot or if they just like watching people fumble.

Allura had come back ready and roaring after the first day with Mice and Coran. Shiro couldn’t tell how much was an act and how much was genuine. She seemed fine. Her smiles were as beautiful as ever. But did she mean them? What was she hiding from the rest of them?

Shiro figured they all had reason to worry, but knew there wasn’t much he could do if Allura wasn’t willing to talk to him. He knew she wouldn’t crack in the end, and he’d only be making a fool of himself.

Unless she _did_ want somebody to comfort her. In which case Shiro was doing an awful job. He wondered if he should just confront her about it, ask if there was anything Allura needed, anything he could do. He felt like he needed to do _something_ , at least, instead of just standing by and watching her tear herself apart.

The only option besides confronting her about it would be subtlety dropping hints about what his intention was- the point he needed to get across.

Shiro just wanted Allura to be happy. The fact that she was carrying so much with her wherever she went… it killed him. She packed it all up and hid it behind her smile. She did it for others. She did it for herself. She was only hurting herself.

As cheesy as it sounded, she burned with an amazing fire. But the fire was burning her away to ashes. To dust.

The thought of Allura reduced to dust was enough to make Shiro upset. He was scared that it might happen, because he knew that once you stepped into the Arena, all bets were off. He’d be left with either a warm hand held gently in his own, or a cold, bloodless one.

Maybe he’d be the one to die first. That would be nice, he wouldn’t have to lose Allura. But then again, how could he put Allura through that? Not to sound arrogant, but Allura felt better around him. The two had, during their short partnership, built a strong bond of understanding and trust, of reassurance and kindness.

As of the day he’d been Reaped, Allura had become the most important person in his life.

Of course, all these thoughts over breakfast was a bit of a gloomy start to the day. Allura probably noticed he wasn't feeling his best, because she kept her arm resting against his, her small form of comfort. Shiro appreciated it.  
Coran was going on and on about some strange camp he’d gone to a few years ago and it made for an amusing distraction until one of the Mentors stood up and called for everybody’s attention.

The room went silent, and the Mentor started speaking.

“Tonight, as you should all know, the interviews that will introduce you to the people of Panem will take place. Training will end halfway through the day, at which time we will travel to the Capitol. You will have your… _unconventional_ appearances accounted for by Stylists, and by the time everybody is ready for the interviews, they’ll be starting. Please remember Tributes, this will be broadcasted live to the entirety of Panem. Act how you see fit. That is all.”

There was silence in the room as the Mentor sat back down, and the chatter came back as a low hum until the room reached its regular volume. Shiro regathered his thoughts as Coran began talking again, and he tried to pay attention. Coran’s rambling and Allura’s arm resting gently against his pulled him through the morning meal.

\--

Training that day was a bit distracted.

Everybody was half out of it (except Zarkon and his friends, but who’s surprised) and trying to pretend that things were still fine.

They’d all been walking on thin ice since training had started, but now the Arena was a very big, very real possibility that loomed in their heads and rocked adrenaline into their motions.

They all knew it was coming. But after the interviews, there were only two days before they went in. Only two days. Only two days. _Only two days._

Nobody was really standing with all of that laying on their minds, but they all tried to. Tried to pretend they were fine. Tried to pretend they wouldn’t be killing each other in two days. Tried to pretend there was nothing to be afraid of.  
Tried to pretend they’d wake up any minute now.

So to say, nobody was in very good shape.

The training passed in a haze of strained smiles and pulled muscles, and the mood of the room significantly different. You could feel it in everyone.

Allura still managed to smile, and Shiro was always feeling better on the other end of it. He felt warmth rush through his body to replace a cold he didn’t even know was there, feeling pleasant and comfortable all the way to his fingertips.

He was happy. He was comfortable. He was something other than the nothing he had forced himself to be in order to cope. While this might not be the best time, it was better than nothing.

The journey to his death started in two days. Shiro had two days left. Two days.  
When the Mentors came into the Training room, everyone froze. Everything stopped. They all felt the tension in the air. Suddenly there wasn't enough oxygen in the room, and nobody could move. This was it.

They were all aware when they walked out of the room that every step they took was a step closer to their deaths.

Onto the train, slowly.

Sitting in the seats, silently.

Watching the other Tributes, sullenly.

They were only waiting for the end.

**-Lance-**

The Tributes were separated, going into rooms labelled by their Districts. He and Keith stood together without saying a word in the empty space.

There were chairs they chose not to sit in. There were words they chose not to say. There was too much to be said to say any of it at all, really.

Instead of the tense atmosphere becoming more relaxed when the Stylist walked into the room, it became heavier.

The Stylist payed no mind to them, only giving them a strange look before walking to the table and setting her bag on it.

The Stylist rifled through her bag and Keith and Lance looked anywhere that wasn’t at the other, or at the Stylist.

“I’m taking you one at a time,” She said suddenly, pointing to Lance, “and I’m taking you first. You can go to the other room through the door over there, I’ll call you in when it’s your turn,” she said, addressing Keith.

Keith moved to go through the door as the Stylist had bid, but paused in his movement and looked at Lance. They held eye contact, one second, two.

Keith turned without a word and went through the door.

Lance stood awkwardly as the Stylist looked him up and down.

She abruptly moved through a different strange door, and a few seconds later reemerged with a large pile of clothes stacked in her arms. She dropped it onto the table and inspected Lance for a minute more, glancing between him and the clothes.

Lance got that she was a woman of few words.

She abruptly picked up some clothes and handed them to Lance, who took them without question. She waved her hand in a general gesture, and Lance looked to where she had indicated.

There was a screen he could hide behind. He moved behind it and started changing. The clothes the Stylist had given him were fitted, and had bright colors, mostly oranges and yellows. It was a suit, for all intents and purposes, same jacket and slacks, but it had colors like a fireball.

 _If my suit is a fireball,_ Lance thought, amused, _I’m suffocating from the ashes in the air._

He did feel like he couldn’t breathe. There was too much pressure everywhere. There was too much… _everything_ everywhere.

He knew as he was putting on the suit that he was going to face all of Panem that night. He was going to face the people rooting for him to die, and he was going to do it with a _smile on his face._ He was going to smile for them, take their glares and questions. Take their objectification, because he knew it was one of the only ways they lived with themselves. He would take it, he would bear it, and he would save his tears for the Arena. He would need the water.

He was taking the world that hated him on his shoulders, not because he wanted to support them or lift them higher, but because he didn’t know what else to do. He was a lost child trying to make his way through.

But the people of the world he lived in dressed up lost children like they were prizes to be beheld before throwing them in the lion’s den. Even if they screamed nobody would hear. Even if they cried nobody would see. Even if they died, nobody would care.

That’s how these things worked.

Lance didn’t know how to act otherwise.

He walked out from behind the screen and faced the Stylist. She eyed him again before waving her hand back at the screen.

He walked back to change out of the suit and tried to block introspective thoughts to keep some semblance of happiness.

He thought of home. He thought of his sister’s laughing and cooking, he thought of old Pops smiling, of his mom hugging him and emitting _light_.

He thought of time’s he’d stayed up all night with his sisters, talking quietly and laughing, all of them half asleep and _what happened that night stays on that night_. He thought of them complaining about the heat and the cold, respectively.

He thought of them asking questions while he fixed up the record player, or when he taste-tested some new recipe they had. He thought of the days spent running and smiling, scraping knees and climbing trees.

He thought of looking at the stars and _wondering_. He thought of the smell of chicken soup, and the jolt of electricity when you shocked yourself. He thought of his bed, not comfortable but cozy, and his blanket, embellished with patterns he’s revelled in since he was a child.

He thought of Hunk and Pidge, happy and warm and joking and _supportive_. The kind of friendship they’d developed within days was the kind of friendship Lance had always dreamed of. Their circumstances sped it up a bit. Lance didn’t know how he’d ever lived without them. They were kind and true and they _cared_. They cared _about him_. They wanted to hear every story, wanted to know every arbitrary fact, wanted to laugh at every joke. They cared enough about him that being around them was rejuvenating.

And he thought about _Keith_. This kid had hated him from the start, pushed him away and scowled. But look at them now. They’d made a blanket nest again last night, using every blanket and pillow they had access to from both rooms. They’d laid in the blankets and looked at the ceiling and _talked_. And talked. And talked. They both drifted off by the time the Sun came up, and dawn was invading the room from the windows. They murmured good nights to the other that neither remembered, and slipped into sleep at the same time.

When they woke up they were not cuddling. Nope. No way. No spooning going on, or interlocked hands.

Lance thought about the way Keith had smiled at him, so softly. He thought about the gentle ‘ _Good morning_ ’ that Keith whispered, light as air. He thought about Keith’s smile and his subdued light, about his love of the dumb sweater Lance had found.

Lance thought about Keith.

Lance thought about Hunk.

Lance thought about Pidge.

Lance thought about his sisters and his Pops, about his mom. He heard the notes of the first song on the record player, creaky and off key and sounding like they came from somewhere far away. He heard them drift through his ears, softly, softly, almost not even there.

He came out from behind the screen, changed back into his Tribute uniform, and handed the Stylist the suit. She looked at him wearily before turning back to her table of clothes. He realized he was crying. He had done this to make himself more happy, so why was he crying?

The Stylist swept her hand over the table and all the clothes fell off. She opened her bag and brought out a sewing kit, and went to work adjusting the fitting of the suit. Lance wiped the tears off his face and tried to pretend that didn’t just happen. He was happy. Why was he crying.

“It’s okay to be scared,” the Stylist said without looking up from her work, “and it’s okay to be stressed. Everything is happening all at once for you, and you don’t get a break. I hate to remind you, but you’re going into the Arena in two days. Crying is understandable. Stress is understandable.”

She looked up from her work and looked Lance in the eye.

“You’re only a kid. You don’t deserve this, any of this. But this is what you get. Only the Capitol people really get off on it, remember that. With every death the people of Panem are more enraged. Not everybody is counting down the seconds to your death, I promise.

“Remember there’s a world outside the Arena. There’s a world outside of all of this. A world of light and laughs and smiles. Blue skies and weightless clouds and fields. Panem is the wasteland of the Earth, but it’s where we were thrown. That doesn’t make us waste. Thriving even when everything else tells us not to makes us more than that, more than anything. The fact that you’re here still, it makes you more. It makes you a survivor.

“You may die in a few days, or you may not. People will say that the situation is in your control. It isn’t. None of it is. The only thing you can do from here is try. Try, and try, and try, and if you fail, that doesn’t define you. You’ve tried thus far. You’ve gotten this far.”

She turned back to her work, silent now. Lance was stunned. He wasn’t expecting a talk, or anything really. He thought the Stylist would be like the other Capitol people, that she would be waiting for the Games in excitement and telling him it would be ‘For the honor’.

It wasn’t the most uplifting thing, but what could you say to a dying man? If he was being honest, he wasn’t going to survive. He knew that. The Stylist knew she couldn’t guarantee anything. None of them could, at this point. But she could try to make him feel better. All they could do at this point is try.

“Thank you,” he said, feeling slightly choked up. The Stylist was silent.

\--

Once his suit had been suitably (heh) patched and stitched, the Stylist had him try it on again. After she dubbed it acceptable she waved him over to a chair on the other side of the room. He moved to sit in it as she dug through her bag again.

Her hand reemerged with what Lance assumed to be a makeup kit. He felt a sliver of excitement. He didn’t want to look like the people from the Capitol (honestly, is that what they call fashion? The people in the _poor_ Districts look better than they do) but a touch of makeup on his face could make him look… _good_ for once. He knew as much. His sisters practiced a lot in aesthetic.

The Stylist got to work, and Lance closed his eyes. It was almost therapeutic, the steady swipe of brushes against his face.  
He knew that was lame, but honestly? Let him have this. He couldn’t find much ease anymore.

When the Stylist told him to open his eyes, he was almost sad that the makeup would be over. It was slightly… comforting? He didn’t let himself rest on the thought for too long and just let the Stylist look at him for a minute. She was quick to add a few changes here and there, then stepped back to look at him again.

She smiled a little and handed Lance a mirror from her bag.

He was surprised when he looked in the mirror, because was it _himself_ that he saw?

He looked _happy_ , with the bags under his eyes gone and his usually sallow face was fuller. She must’ve done something with highlights, too. He looked bright. Combined with the suit that looked like fire, he was _luminous_.

It was actually pretty strange. He felt a smile crawl across his face, and it looked so _in place_ he lost his breath for a moment.

He looked up and the Stylist was still smiling, looking a little smug.

He smiled back at her.

“Thank you,” he said again. Her eyes were soft.

“Knock em out, kid.”

\--

He went through the door he was instructed to and saw his Mentor sitting in a room. She looked slightly frazzled, so Lance knew Keith had just left to get his hair and makeup done (the Stylist hadn’t done anything with his hair, it was too short and messy and wouldn’t take anything away from the Look so she gave up on it). He was amused that Keith had gotten their Mentor to such a state.

Abra eyed him critically before indicating he should move to his seat.

When he sat down across from her, she leaned back with a sigh.

“We’ve gotta figure out what you’re going to act as when you get up on stage,” she said. Lance wasn’t surprised.

“Of course, answer the questions truthfully unless you think the the truth is going to change your prospects, but you have to answer them under a persona. For you, I was thinking…” she drew off, looking contemplative. Lance was impatient, fidgeting in his seat a little even though he knew it would wrinkle the suit. He tugged on the ends of the sleeves.

“I was thinking that you should act on the happier side. It ties in well with your already lighthearted personality, and the costume really sets you up to be smiling. Joke a lot, smile a lot, be easygoing but intense, sort of thing. You got that? Understand?”

Lance did not, in fact, understand. He had an idea of what she meant, but he had no idea how he would play it.

Easygoing but intense? What was he supposed to do?

Abra probably saw the confusion that was evident on his face, because she jumped to help.

“We should practice so when the interview starts you’ll have a good idea of what to do. I’ll just ask you questions and you try your best to answer them under the attitude we’ve decided on. Okay?”

Lance nodded and moved in his seat… laidback, right? Right, he could work with that. He sprawled out his limbs on the couch, rested his back against it. He put a lazy smile on his face.

He could do this.


	3. Interviews

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you remember Hunger Games canon? Because I don't remember Hunger Games canon. Ha, sorry.  
> This chapter actually turned out a lot shorter than I expected, so... enjoy this midway through the week chapterlet  
> I'll still update Friday, but for now just take this  
> This is a pretty intense chapter. The interviews have a lot riding on them, and a lot of siginfigance in the scheme of things, so I hope you enjoy!

**\---**

“Hello, people of Panem! This is Ro Beast, here with our Tributes for the 106th annual Hunger Games!” The audience cheered loudly.

“We’re about to get on with the interviews, and meet our Tributes for the Games this year. Now who’s excited?” The audience cheered more.

“Then let’s welcome our first Tribute up to the stage, Allura from District 1!”

Allura walked across the stage to sit in the cushy chair across from Ro. She crossed her legs, folded her hands, and smiled.

“So, Allura, tell us, how excited are you for the Games this year?”

“Well, I’ve been known to be very competitive, and unwilling to back down. Maybe a bit too handy with some sais, if you’re catching my drift.” She smiled wickedly at Ro, and the audience felt a trickle of trepidation. Allura was… scary. Ro laughed.

“That’s great Allura. I can see you’re liking your prospects. So how did you get so good with sais? How does that tie into growing up so close to the Capitol?”

“You see, Ro, my parents were always very big on self defence. I found the basic fighting skills they taught us to be fascinating, and exhilarating. I kept practicing, and ended up here.”

“I see. But I’m sure everyone here is dying to know about that dress. Can you tell us more about it?”

**-Allura-**

She literally just told him she had mastered dual-wielding _swords_. That she’d been training all her life to kill people. She was giving the most chilling, terrifying impression she could (and it was working, if she could tell anything from the audience), and this man wanted to know about her _dress_? How many bows and frills it had? How the colors matched?

Allura was so much. She was so real. She was so much more than her dress. Did they not see the girl who didn’t get to grow up, who was breaking with every word out of her mouth? Did they not see every lie, every deceit dripped from her tongue like clover tea? How much was she hiding? How much didn’t they know?  
Didn’t they know what they were doing to her?

**\---**

“It’s accented with red because the Stylist agreed it was my color. It also has great room for movement, so if I have to chase something I have 100% of my abilities ready to go. It’s very convenient. The white is a match on the color scheme, and I personally think it looks very nice. But I’m sure everyone here is dying to know about _your_ dress, Ro. Can you tell us more about it?”

Allura said it all with a sweet smile on her face. It was chilling. Nobody could remember the last time she had blinked.

“Sense of humor on this one!” Ro said, addressing the audience. They all laughed, albeit nervously. Some of the higher ups in the box seats were smiling wickedly.

“But Allura, really, tell us, how did you get your hair like that?”

**-Allura-**

This man had to be kidding.

**\---**

“I’ve no idea, to be completely honest with you. My department is more in combat. Here’s a suggestion for you though: why don’t you ask the Stylist. You know, the one that you hired to dress us up so we look more appealing to the sponsors? After all,” she looked to the audience, sweet smile on her face and fire in her eyes, “everybody picks the most attractive pig when they want to slaughter.”

There was silence.

“Wellllll, it looks like time is up for you Allura! It’s been a great talk. Good luck in the Games!” Ro said quickly. Allura smiled and stood from her seat and walked off the stage.

**-Allura-**

She wasn’t getting any sponsors. She didn’t care.

**\---**

“And our next Tribute is Shiro, also from District 1! Come on up Shiro!” The audience cheered as Shiro walked onto the stage and died down as he sat in the chair.

“So, Shiro, you must have some sort of feeling about that partner of yours, huh?” Ro started, hoping to start some drama.

“She’s insignificant on my radar. I have one thing in mind, and that is winning the Games. She is only a complication in this and I don’t wish to speak about her,” Shiro stated, deadpan. He seemed emotionless.

**-Shiro-**

Allura is the most beautiful and significant and important person he knew, she mattered _so much_. So much.

Why was he saying these things?  
How did he get here.

**\---**

“I... see. So, how do you plan on winning the Games, Shiro?”

“By killing anyone who gets in my way.”

“Right. Did you train for the Games during your childhood in District 1?”

Shiro turned to look at him, and Ro felt a chill going down his spine. Shiro and Allura were alike. Terrifyingly alike. He didn’t like the feeling around them.

“No. I’m just good enough to do it.”

Ro believed him. Everyone believed him.

“You must’ve been training… really hard the past couple of days then, huh?”

“Of course. I’m taking this seriously.”

“Of course.”

The Tributes this year seemed… different. Ro and Shiro made awkward conversation until the timer (blessedly) hit zero.

“Well! Shiro! Looks like you best be…”

But Shiro was already off the stage. Everyone was quiet for a moment.

“Aaaaand next up is our Tributes from District 2, starting with Pidge!” The audience clapped as Pidge strolled onto stage. They sat down leisurely in the chair across from Ro.

“Pidge, that’s a nice, uh, suit you’ve got on, mind telling us about it?”

**-Pidge-**

What did he want to know? That they had to scream at the Stylist for 10 minutes to get it instead of a dress? That they felt completely uncomfortable?

Pidge had no idea about suits or fashion, so _why was this idiot asking about it_.

 _Nobody cared_. It is _clothing_. They are being sent into a gladiator-style battle royale, Ro could (and should) ask about _literally anything_ else.

**\---**

“I actually like it since it’s green, and green reminds me of the plant life back home.” Pidge said, smiling.

“Ah, yes-”

“It is _also_ much more comfortable than any dress that I would’ve been shoved into, and has pockets, which is a huge plus.”

The audience laughed, warming up to this strange, happy small one.

“Yeah,” Ro said, laughing nervously, “must be. What do you usually keep in your pockets?”

“Oh that’s a great question,” Pidge said, leaning forward with a bigger smile on their face.

“Usually I have pieces of scrap metal that I find lying around in the streets, or some sort of interesting knick knack. I also tend to carry anything that could be useful, say, a pen or a screwdriver. See?” Pidge said, emptying out their suit pockets onto the decorative coffee table between them and Ro.

A bunch of strange miscellaneous items that nobody could identify were sprawled across the table now, with Pidge pointing to and talking about each one.

“-and then the cat ran off with the shoelaces, but I managed to snag this charming little thing before the string snapped. The fire had died down, and the figure was gone, so I walked out with one more story and one more knick knack.”

“…Sounds exciting. So how are you feeling about your prospects in the Games this year?”

“But this one? This one has a great story. See, I was out with my friends Hunk and Lance and we were walking down the street, just dudes being bros, when out of _nowhere_ -”

The timer buzzed soon after. Half of the audience was relieved, while the other half was already in love with the small child.

Pidge shoveled all the items back in their pockets and scampered off stage.

There was a quick lapse while everyone was adjusting.

“Our next Tribute is Hunk, as well from District 2, come on, Hunk!”

Hunk strolled onto the stage with the audience clapping and cheering again. He fell into the chair across from Ro and waited expectantly for the first question.

“Hunk, how was growing up in District 2, tell us.” Hunk smiled and became visibly happier.

“I had a big family, lots of aunts and uncles and grandparents. We spent a lot of time together, and I helped out all day with the masonry business-”

“So that explains why you’re so strong?”  
Hunk frowned a bit at the interruption.

“Well, I guess, but also because of my uncle’s cooking. He was a _wizard_ with food, he inspires me, honestly.”

“Well, did he cook _and_ work? A lot of responsibility for one man.” Hunk frowned again.

“My aunt worked. And my uncle. And my grandparents. And my other aunts and uncles. And my mom and dad. We all worked. That’s how you keep a business running.”

**-Hunk-**

For once, _for once_ , could the Capitol people not be problematic? Of _course_ everyone worked. His uncle was just really good at cooking. It wasn’t _engrained_ in women’s bones to be good at cooking. That’s not how anatomy works. That’s not how _anything_ works.

Hunk gained confidence knowing his family was watching as he corrected Ro on his sexist ignorance. He knew they were cheering for him, all the way from home.

**\---**

“So, Hunk, what have you liked so far about living in the Capitol? Is the food better than your uncle’s?” Ro asked, looking to keep the interview going and to please the audience.

“Honestly, no,” Hunk said, “There’s far too much, and it’s tasteless. And as for what it’s like living here, well, it’s too _plush_. Nothing is practical.”

“What do you mean by-”

“Nothing has any support, and you sink into it. That’s not good for your back, clinically. Also, most energy systems seem to producing a lot more waste than they need to be-”

“Right, but what _do_ you like about the Capitol?” Ro asked, trying to steer the conversation away from anything that would make the Capitol people upset.

“My friends,” Hunk stated flatly. The implication was clear- his friends weren’t from the Capitol. He liked nothing about the Capitol.

**-Hunk-**

There’s nothing to like about the Capitol and Hunk was not going to lie to save the pride of these bigots.

**\---**

“Right, of course. That makes sense, and _would you look at that_ time is _up_ thank you for joining us Hunk!”

“Yeah,” Hunk said as he stood up and walked off the stage.

“Our next Tribute is from District 3, er, Lance?”

**-Ro-**

Either the Reaping people are blind or incompetent because there are _so many boys._

**\---**

Lance strutted up on stage with the audience applauding anxiously. The Tributes were… _stranger_ this year.

“So, Lance. District 3, gotta love it. What did you love the most about it?” Ro asked, trying to keep the animosity low.

“Well, I always loved how many stars you could see from my house. If you looked hard enough, you could see the Milky Way. I’ve always appreciated that. I also love and miss my family, all my sisters. They were the _best_ cooks, like good ol’ Hunky’s uncle,” Lance answered with a smile on his face. Ro almost closed his eyes in relief. A good one.

“Yeah, what did you do with your sisters? Ever train for the Games?” A sour look crossed Lance’s face for a moment before he started speaking.

“We never trained for killing or combat, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m in here cold turkey, to be honest with you. I mostly just spent the days hanging out with my sisters. I loved them so much. I love them so much. Hey guys!” He said, smiling at the camera quickly to address his sisters before turning back to Ro.

**-Lance-**

_His sisters were on the other side of the camera_. They saw him. They were watching him. All of them. They were rooting for him, they were there, even though he couldn’t see them. They were there. _They were there._ Lance didn’t know how he felt.

He just wanted to go home.

**\---**

“So how do you feel about your prospects in the Games?” Ro asked. Lance laughed.

“They aren’t very optimistic, in my opinion. I need all the help I can get. Training is working though.” Ro nodded, smiling. The timer buzzed and Lance stood, waved at the cheering audience, and walked off the stage.

“Well wasn’t he splendid?” Ro asked the audience. They cheered again.

“Our other Tribute from District 3 is Keith. Come on out, Keith!” Keith walked onto the stage slowly and deliberately, as if he wanted to draw out the timer.

“So, Keith, tell me about your partner Tribute. He seems like a nice guy.”

“He’s a nuisance.”

“I… see. Then, what’s _your_ perspective on your home District?” Ro asked, hoping he wouldn’t get another moody Tribute.

“It was fine. I want to get back. So I want to win the Games.” Keith was staring off into blank space, and his answers were concise. The audience didn’t know how to feel about him.

“You ready and trained then? Going to take on every Tribute you can?”

“You know it.”

**-Keith-**

His _brother_ was playing in the Games. He did not want to make it out of the Games alive, because that would mean his brother would be dead. And Lance. Lance would be dead. What kind of life would he be living without them?

His home District was more than ‘Fine’. He loved it. He loved it because his brother was there. He loved his brother.

His ‘fellow Tribute’ wasn’t a nuisance. Of course not. He was annoying at times, but Keith would give up everything to keep him in his life. Lance was _new_. He was _bright_. He was ridiculous, but he wasn’t a nuisance.

He felt his gut roil at every word he said. It hurt. He didn’t want this, he didn’t want any of this.

**\---**

“And you feel that will be successful, even against Shiro and Allura?” Ro asked, feeling his spine tingle from even saying the names.

“You know it.” Keith replied, sounding slightly bored and still staring off into space.

“Right…” Ro said, and a second later the timer buzzed. Keith got up without a word and moved off the stage. Ro wasn’t sad to see him go.

“Our next Tribute is Mice from District 4.” Ro sounded tired to anybody that was listening. And they were only at 4.

A short kid with multicolored hair strolled across the stage to sit across from Ro.

“So how are you today?” Ro said, obviously tired at this point.

“I’m doing fine, how are you?” Mice asked with a smile on their face.

“I’m not doing too hot, but thank you,” Ro said, and The audience laughed.

“ _So_ , I’m _dying_ to know, how did you get that hair?” Ro asked, trying to clear the atmosphere. This one seemed to be playing nice.

Mice made a face.

“My hair is just like this naturally, I don’t know what you’re asking,” they said.

Ro hesitated for a moment.

“There must be some crazy things going down back home then, huh? Tell us about District 4.”

“Well, it's a lot of fun I guess? There's not much to do at times, but it’s still home, you know?” Mice responded. The audience was quiet. This one was being cooperative.

“Yeah? Have any ladies waiting for you back home?” Ro asked. Mice made a face again.

“Of course not.”

“Ah, right, right, of course.”

There was a lapse in the speaking while Ro recollected himself.

“So do you feel that you have good chances in the Games this year, Mice?”

“I doubt it. Technically, I have a 1 in 24 chance to win, not taking into account that we aren’t evenly matched and some Tributes are stronger and better than me. Those aren’t very good odds.”

**-Mice-**

They were not coming out of the Games. Coran was. Allura was. Shiro was. Not them. They didn’t deserve to win as much as their partners. They’d gladly let themself be killed by any of them if it let them win the Games.

Mice didn’t need glory, or honor. Mice didn’t need anything. Mice could die if it meant the others didn’t have to.

**\---**

“That’s, er, _charming_. Thank you Mice, but it _looks like_ time is up.”  
Mice left the stage with a flourish.

“So, our next Tribute is Coran, also from District 4. Hey, Coran!” Coran sat down across from Ro.

“Hey, Ro. Tough night?” Coran asked. Ro smiled briefly.

“Something like that, but we’re here to talk about _you_. So tell us Coran, how do you feel about the Games this year?” Coran smiled at the question.

“Tell _me_ , Ro, how would you feel about a parasite slowly drinking all your blood and eating your organs? How would you like to be sold off like a pig to the slaughter to go kill people you know and love? Because let me tell you, Ro, buddy. It isn’t exactly _fun_.” There was still a smile on Coran’s face by the end.

There was silence. Complete silence.

Usually nobody was so… _forthright_ about _anything_ to do with the Games.

**-Coran-**

He knew what he’d just done. Did he regret it? No. He could practically _feel_ Allura and Shiro and Mice’s approval.

He’d just told off the Capitol in front of all of Panem. And if they made a scene, they’d be short one Tribute. He was literally untouchable. He smirked.

Best use his last words to the world for _something_ , right?

**\---**

“Well, um, I guess-”

“You do realize none of us want to be here, right? And none of us think we’re going to win? Going into the Arena is a death wish, and a lot of us have made _friends_. I know I’m not speaking only for myself when I say some of us would rather die for them than win the Games. None of us want this. None of us should be here. Yet here we are. So why don’t you stop asking stupid questions and _think_ for a minute about what you’re doing to us. We’re _kids_. Watching us kill each other shouldn’t be amusing, and you shouldn’t be supporting it with a _smile on your face_.”

Coran stood and walked off stage.

Everybody was quiet. They were silent until the timer hit 0.

“Aaaaaaaand our _next_ Tribute is from District 5. Come on up, uh, Haggar.”

The next interviews went by in a blur, nobody was really paying attention. They were all mostly shocked about the bomb Coran had dropped. Nobody really cared enough to listen to all the tough-guy attitudes from the next couple of Districts. People snapped back into attention after the nerdy kid from District 8 walked off the stage.

“And, uh, next we have, um, _Thace_ from District 9.” A big Tribute walked use up on stage.

**-Ro-**

This isn’t a girl? Why are there so many guys? This makes _literally no_ sense.

**\---**

The audience cheered as Thace sat in the chair. They could tell it was another tough-guy type with good odds. He was interesting enough for them to pay minor attention though, what with his Galran background. They were disappointed at the lack of drama.

“And also from District 9, Pawn.” Ro wasn’t even hiding how tired he was anymore. These interviews were only 3 minutes each, but they were _taxing_.

Pawn sat down across from Ro with a lazy smile and a guarded attitude. The audience was more interested by the second.

“Pawn, tell us, on a scale of 1 to 5, how bloodthirsty are you?” Ro asked. Pawn deflated, for a moment, quick enough nobody saw it.

“Easily a 5, is that even a question?” Pawn responded.

“Really? How good are you at killing people?”

“Like, super good. Really good. If you need to kill somebody, I’m your guy. I kill in my freetime. I love killing."

“Then what’s your favoured weapon?”

“I favour swords, because it really gets them _bleeding_ , you know?”

**-Pawn-**

Somebody, please, poison him or _something_. Just end this God-forsaken interview. ‘I kill in my freetime’? Pawn was surprised he hadn’t thrown up yet.

Why would _anyone_ act like this? Why would they believe him when he said something about how much he loved _murdering the innocent_? Did he give such a good impression?

This isn’t how he wanted people thinking of him. He didn’t even want people thinking of him. Why was he here?  
Pawn just wanted to leave. He just wanted to go home. He forced a laugh at something Ro had said and smiled. Smiling was all he could do anymore.

**\---**

“You know, I have to ask, Pawn. Were you right-handed before you lost your arm? Did you have to retrain yourself to be left-handed?” Ro asked. Pawn laughed. Pawn smiled. There was something knew in his body language that made everyone uneasy.

“No, I was born ambidextrous. Besides, retraining yourself to be dominant in a different hand isn’t that hard.” Pawn leaned forward in his seat.

“Want me to show you? Which one’s your dominant hand?” Pawn smiled again. Ro felt chills.

“Wow, would you look at that, the time's up! Pawn, thanks for joining us, good luck in the Games!”

Pawn stared him in the eye a moment more and then stood up and strolled off the stage. The aura of the room noticeably changed once he’d exited.

“Now, from District 10, we have Pitt!”

**-Ro-**

Why. Are there. So many. _Boys_.

**\---**

The tall Tribute sunk into the plush chair with a smile on his face. Ro grinned, although it was shaky.

“So, how do you feel about your chances in the Games this year?” Ro asked. He couldn’t think of a better question.

“Well,” Pitt started, “I guess my chances are just as good as the next guy’s. You never really know with the Games.”

“Yes, that makes sense. But I have to ask, are you looking forward to the Games this year?” Ro said, hoping this was one of the easygoing play-along types.

Pitt flashed a blinding smile.

“Most definitely.”

**-Pitt-**

Yes, Pitt was greatly looking forward to going to his probable death in the Arena and watching his best friend die. Or killing people himself. Highlight of his year, in fact.

They really needed to pull off this revolution.

**\---**

They made small talk until the timer buzzed. Pitt walked off the stage with practiced arrogance, and the audience continued to cheer. Xan walked up when he was announced and sat in the same chair as everyone else.

Ro felt like he was getting a break. These were all easy going personality types.

“District 10, huh? How do you feel about it? Do tell.”

“Well,” Xan said, thinking, “there are a lot of cows. And the chickens are killer. They’re out for blood. I would _swear_ their beaks are unnaturally sharp.”

“Ah,” Ro said, “Right.” The audience was amused.

“So, did you ever have any chickens? Back home?” Ro questioned. He was going off anything at this point.

Xan made a scared face. “Never. We had goats.”

**-Xan-**

They didn’t have goats. They had kids.

Lots of cousins. He missed them. He wondered if they were able to understand the interview. If they even bothered to watch it.

He knew Sashi was watching, probably even learned English for it.

Sashi cared.

**\---**

“Goats. That makes sense. Do you, uh, miss your goats?” Xan smiled a bit more.

“Yeah, sure. I miss them more than I miss my family or my home, or anything else really. I miss my goats.” He looked towards the camera.

“Say hi to my goats back home, would you? And Sashi.” Ro was despairing, and the audience laughed.

“So are you going to win the Hunger Games so you can go back to your… goats?” Ro asked. He wasn’t even trying to be subtle in his transitions anymore.

“Yeah. Sure. I want to win the Games just so I can go back to my goats. Before you ask me about my prospects, let’s just say Pitt’s are better than mine.” Ro was put out. The audience laughed again, though, so Xan supposed he did an okay job.

“Well, sorry Xan, but time is up. So if you wouldn’t mind…” Xan walked off the stage and Ro sighed.

“Our next Tribute is from District 11, Alena.”

Once Alena was situated and the crowd had calmed down, Ro opened his mouth to ask his first question.

“If you’re going to ask about District 11, it was dull and boring. My prospects in the Games are well and good, and I am plenty bloodthirsty. I use hunting knives as my weapon. Is there anything else you would like to know?” Alena interrupted him. The crowd was quiet for a moment, but then there was quite a bit of chuckling.

“Could I…” Ro’s voice was small, “Could I ask you about your dress?”

Alena looked about ready to punch him. The timer went off. It hadn’t been three minutes. The sound booth guys just didn’t want any violence on stage.

Alena walked away without looking back, and Ro breathed a sigh of relief. Only three more.

“Our next Tribute is also from District 11, Dexter,” Ro said.

“Call me Dex, please,” Dex said as he walked on stage and sat across from Ro, like everyone else.

“All right, Dex, tell me about District 11.”

“Actually, Alena got it pretty spot on, but since they never told you about their dress, I can tell you about my suit,” Dex offered.

“No, that isn-”

“I really like the color, sorta makes my eyes pop, you know? And the lining accents it so perfectly. The pockets are a bit small, but I can work with that. Also, it fits really well, has the perfect combinations to bring to light the way my shoulders hunch and my back flexes. I can be agile in it too! But the true mastery of this masterpiece _really_ comes from all these things combined, making a nearly perfect suit that falls over my body in such a perfect way to make it look perfectly effortless!”

**-Dex-**

This was not how his Mentor told him to act. He found he didn’t care. The stunts Ro was pulling were outrageous, and if Dex had the opportunity to sass, he would _sass_.

He had no idea he had such extensive knowledge of suits.

**\---**

The audience was chuckling and Ro was so lost at this point that he was stuttering. The sound booth guys helped out by speeding up the timer again (they’d really been doing it all night, but at least those times it was subtle and nobody noticed how much shorter the interviews were). Dex walked off the stage with his hands stuffed in his too-small pockets and a working a confident stride. The audience cheered.

“Now, from District 12, we have Kevin.”

Kevin waked to the chair and sat down with a smile on his face.

“Kevin, tell us about District 12.” Ro said, hoping against hope this one wouldn’t be sassy.

“It was dreary. There was a lot of coal and a lot of tears. Everything was dark gray. All the time. I thought I was colorblind or something, but nope. That’s just the District,” Kevin said. Ro looked like he was ready to pass out. Or cry.

“But you know, I get to the Capitol and suddenly there’s _color_ , and I’m just sitting here like ‘Wow, I had no idea such beauty existed in the world. I especially love the color red.”

“Because it’s the color of blood, right?” Ro asked, “How do you think you’ll do in the Games this year?”

Kevin frowned.

“No, I like the color red because my brother keeps wearing a red sweater and I’ve started associating the color with him. Who likes blood? Far too much iron for it to be any good for anything, in my opinion.”

“So you’ve had past experiences with blood,” Ro stated.

“Aaaaaand would you look at that, time is _up_.” Kevin said, standing and brushing invisible dust from his suit.

“Go on. Introduce the next Tribute, don’t let me stop you,” he said as he walked off stage. The audience applauded, because that’s what audiences do.

Ro looked like he needed a drink.

“Our final Tribute is Swanky, also from District 12.” Swanky loped across the stage to sit in the chair across from Ro.

After several exchanges of Ro screaming and Swanky responding calmly in a foreign language that nobody understood, the sound booth guys sounded the timer. Swanky walked off the stage. Ro put his head in his hands for a moment.

The curtains that acted as a backdrop pulled away to reveal the Tributes standing together according to their Districts. The audience applauded as Ro stood up and gestured to them.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Tributes of the 106th annual Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in their favour.”

He needed some strong alcohol.

**-Shiro-**

He and Allura were sitting together in her room, silent in the dark. There were lights outside her window, but the curtains were closed. They were next to one another on the bed, leaning against the other slightly.

“You don’t really think I’m insignificant, do you?” Allura suddenly asked, voice hushed.

Shiro breath him all at once. _What_?

“Never,” Shiro answered, just as hushed.  
He paused for a moment.

“Are you really going to cut down everybody in your way in the Games?” He breathed.

“Never,” Allura whispered, clenching her fists.

They sat together in the faint light of the Capitol Towers, unspeaking through the rest of the night.

**-Lance-**

Lance and Keith were together in their blanket nest again that night, unabashedly cuddling. It had been such a long day that neither questioned their need to be close and hugging.

The lights were off and the thermostat was down low again, and Keith was wearing that sweater Lance had found. It was scratchy to hug, but Lance hugged Keith anyway.

He had something weighing on his mind.

He and Keith hadn’t talked. There was too much in the air. But, he needed to, He needed to know.

“Keith, do you really think I’m a nuisance?” he whispered to the air, so quietly it almost didn’t sound.

He felt Keith stiffen slightly in his embrace.

“Of course not Lance… of… of _course not_. You _idiot_.” Keith pulled back from where he’d tucked his head to look Lance in the eye.

They stared each other in the darkness of the room, but it was fine, because they each found light in the other’s eyes.

Neither of them noticed when they started smiling.

Neither of them noticed the two of them subconsciously drawing closer to the other.

Neither of them noticed as they fell slowly into sleep, wrapped in the other’s arms.


	4. The Revolutionaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I'm posting this late I had family stuff all day and then everything got deleted and bleh. I'm seriously shocked by the response this is getting though, thank you so much for reading!  
> Right so the only reason your eyes won't start bleeding when you read this chapter is because of my lovely beta reader (hesitantlyoptimistic on the tumbles). She turned it from complete crap to publish-worthy with just a few comments. I'm in awe. Go follow her.  
> This chapter is intense. Kevin is pure human trash but he doesn't deserve this. The revolution progresses, secrets are revealed, Zarkon is confronted, and the Games are a day away. Hope you enjoy!

**-Pidge-**

Although they were still wary about Kevin and Swanky, they were willing to spend time around the two. Pidge didn’t like the looks they sent each other and the fact that the two of them could talk about things with each other that nobody else understood, but Pidge could deal.

It all drew to a head the night after the interviews.

Pidge was wide awake and using their stolen laptop in a hidden room off to the side of the kitchen hallway. They were surprised when they heard footsteps outside the door. They had the guard schedule memorized and the staff of the Tribute residence were much too lazy to be up and about at this hour.

Which meant there was a Tribute sneaking around in the dead of night.

Pidge almost talked themself out of following the footsteps to the source, almost talked themself into staying where they were and just _relaxing_.

Of course, they got up and snuck to the door to follow the footsteps.

A figure turned around the far end of the hallway when Pidge peaked through a crack in the door. They crept through and closed the door quietly, then walked after the shadow.

They moved on light feet through the hallways, always one corner back, never close enough to see which Tribute it was in the poor light.

The figure stopped abruptly in front of a room with an unremarkable door in an unremarkable hallway. Pidge scanned their mental map to check where they were.

Lower west wing. Underground. Close to the servants quarters, giving it passageways through the entire establishment. If there was any place somebody had to go in order to seem suspicious, it was here.

Pidge crept forward to the doorway, and kept the door open an inch when the Tribute tried to close it. They listened intently from where they stood.

“Was that little stunt you pulled purposeful?” Asked a gruff voice. Pidge got fearful chills just listening to it.

"Yes, sir."

Pidge couldn’t believe it. The responding voice was _Kevin's_.

"The plan you had set up wasn't going to work. I did what I had to do, sir.”

"I didn't _tell_ you to do what you 'Had to'. I gave you instructions and _you didn't follow them_."

Pidge felt a shiver go down their spine. Whoever was behind that voice was _malicious_.

"Sir, your instructions wouldn't have worked in our favor. Carrying them out would've rendered all our efforts null."

" _If I tell you to plant a bomb I expect you to plant a bomb, you hear me?_ Not pull whatever _crap_ you did! This isn't a _game_ , kid!"

There was a moment’s pause.

"With all due respect, _sir_ , we're in the _Hunger Games._ Do you not understand this is literally _all_ a game?" Kevin had obvious anger creeping through his sarcastic comment, which caught Pidge by surprise.

Even more surprising was the sound of skin hitting skin, _hard_.

There was a crash, another, and the sound of something being hit. There was also somebody's muffled grunt, and years in the slums of their own District had taught Pidge how to recognize what somebody in pain sounded like. Whoever made that noise was hurt. They suspected Kevin.

Pidge was frozen in place. 

There was silence for a moment, then gasping. The man's voice spoke, low and quiet.

"I thought we talked about this, you ingrate. You listen to me, like you always have, and you don’t get hurt. If that’s not convincing enough, then I’ll have to bring your brother into the equation.”

"You... you _son of a-_ "

Kevin cut off with a choked sound.

“Woah there, remember Keith. I won't hesitate to hurt him _badly_ , you know that."

There was more gasping.

"Answer when you're spoken to," the threatening voice said.

" _Don't_... hurt him," Kevin breathed.

There was a grunt, then a thud, and Kevin stopped breathing for a second.

" _Please, sir, don't_... don't hurt… him."

Kevin's voice was choked and hollow. Pidge couldn’t understand what they were hearing. This was _bad_.

"Next time I tell you to plant a bomb, you'll do it?"

" _Yes sir_."

"Next time I tell you to kill somebody, you'll do it?"

Another pause.

"N-no... _no sir._ "

Pidge felt their adrenaline spike. What was Kevin doing?

There was another thud, and Kevin wheezed.

"Do you want your brother dead?"

" _No sir,_ " Kevin breathed out.

"Then what's the answer?" The voice growled. There was silence.

" _Yes... sir_."

"Good."

Footsteps moved across the room, too heavy to be Kevin's. There was the sound of metal chafing on concrete, then only Kevin's desperate gasping.

All of Pidge's limbs had gone numb. They were terrified after what they had just heard. They'd been right to be wary of Kevin, but for the wrong reasons. He was only trying to protect himself and  
Keith. He was being blackmailed, and from what Pidge had heard, this had been happening for a few years. At least.

They didn't know what to do. They wanted to go in and help Kevin, and help Kevin _out of the situation,_ but they knew he would react badly.

They slunk back through the hallways to Hunk's room. Pidge hated to wake him, but they needed to talk to somebody about this, _now_.

Who was the man that was doing this to Kevin? What was he going to make Kevin do to the rest of them?

\--

Pidge and Hunk were both exhausted the next day, having spent the night talking with each other about what had happened. Neither of them really knew how to handle the situation, and they were both scared for Kevin and Keith.

Needless to say, training with next to no sleep was a nightmare.

As much as they rejected the notion, Pidge still usually got at least two hours of sleep. Hunk himself was managing to catch quite a few hours a night.

They were both thrown for a loop when they were back in training, which left them lightheaded and practically in tears. Pidge felt they had other things to worry about, exhaustion aside. Hunk agreed with them.

Kevin was still happy and hunky-go-dory as ever, constantly dropping a sarcastic comment, but he was definitely different.

From what Pidge could tell, he was breathing harder than usual, and his walking was guarded. He did no core muscle exercises, completely staying away from anything that might work his abdominals too much. He stopped laughing after a quick chuckle, walked in a different manner, everything.

His smile wasn't the same, either. It almost looked like he had to put physical effort into getting it on his face. It looked weaker, less confident and more dull. He didn't laugh as easily, and his jokes were mediocre, like he couldn't think of any.

He just looked _strained_. Everything seemed to require crushing amounts of effort from him. He apparently had sudden flashes of pain.

Pidge and Hunk agreed it was a stomach injury of some sort, bruising at the least.

It was scary that he was hurt, and even scarier that he probably wouldn't heal before the Games started. He'd have to suffer the Arena with all that. He'd have to _survive_ the Arena with all that.

Pidge and Hunk didn't know how to approach him about it. They wanted to, they couldn't let this continue, but they both had _no_ _idea_ of where to go from there.

Lance could tell there was something off about them and got worried. He probably saw something was wrong with Kevin, too (judging by the look on his face, he did), so it was ultimately him that made the suggestion.

"Hey, do you guys want to take a break and work on reassembling an engine or something?" He asked. Lance knew he had Pidge and Hunk at reassemble, their eyes lit up. Kevin looked tired enough that he could be convinced fairly easily. It seemed Swanky couldn't care less and Keith was the only person who looked somewhat opposed to the idea.

That's how they all ended up sitting around a table with a bunch of machine parts. Pidge could see that apart from themself and Hunk, the only two who were really working with the parts, everyone else was already confused and a little bit bored.

Hunk and Pidge were debating the operation of the gizmo that possibly attached to the whatty-who and could maybe pivot the thinger to an angle that would activate the whatsit when they heard a voice from behind them.

"You're trying to put that in the wrong place. You can tell from the ignition nozzles that this is a model 2832-BNJONAG, meaning the levers and such for rotation and structure go on the other side of the flipping sequence machinery."

Pidge looked at what the stranger was referring to, and was flabbergasted when they realized the voice was right. How hadn't they noticed that?

They turned to see the engineer that had revealed the _secret_ _of_ _the_ _universe_ to the two of them.

Needless to say, they were surprised when it was the tall, slightly ridiculous redhead from District 4. He had a concentrated look on his face as he scanned the contraption that Pidge and Hunk had put together.

He moved his gaze up to meet Pidge's, and a smile lit up his face.

"Hello," he said brightly, holding out a hand, "I'm Coran, District 4, netweaver." As Pidge shook Coran's hand, they distantly remembered District 4 specialized in fishing. They pondered how Coran didn't smell like death itself, after being around dead fish all day.

"I'm Pidge, District 2, scavenger," they said, watching Coran carefully for any tells or changes in attitude that might hint at something they would need to know.

Coran only smiled and moved his eyes back to the messy creation on the table.

"Need any help with that?" He asked. Pidge noticed he had a slight accent that they _knew_ they had heard before. They filed it away for later looking into.

"Actually, any sort of help would be greatly appreciated," Hunk jumped in. Coran turned to him, and Hunk quickly introduced himself before moving back to what progress the two of them had made on the machine, and what they were thinking about where they would go from there. Coran nodded along with Hunk's words, and when Hunk was done he gave a few of his own suggestions as to how they could go about rebuilding the engine.

Pidge was surprised by the advice, but it was really good. They found themself nodding along with Coran's words, understanding completely the approach he was trying for.

The three of the engineers got to work on the contraption with renewed energy. They worked well together. They found the machine was practically reassembling itself.

The others at the table had long since stopped caring and started talking, so when all the chatter at the table stopped at the same time, Pidge knew something was up. Slight fear started twisting in their stomach.

Pidge looked to see what the others were watching.

The two Tributes from District 1 and the other Tribute from District 4 were all walking towards their table, gazes locked on Coran.

"Coran! We couldn't find you. Look, the simulator's open now, we've gotta go beat 5 and 7's score," Mice said. Coran seemed startled, but regrouped quickly.

"That's all well and great Mice, but look! This is a 2832-BNJONAG! It's been _years_ since I've even _heard_ of one of these bad boys. Why don't you join us? These chaps over here are geniuses! Oh, and Shiro and Allura, you can talk with these other boys. They all seem nice enough. Come on, we've been working in that same simulator since we first stepped foot in the training room. Just sit down with us, it won't hurt." Coran looked at them a moment more before turning back to the engine. Everyone else was still frozen.

Mice was the first to move, shrugging their shoulders and sitting down with Coran to inspect the engine. Allura and Shiro just stared at the rest of the group, who stared right back at them. Hunk was the next to recover, glaring across the table at Lance and Keith before turning back to the engine with Coran and Mice.

Pidge watched as Lance and Keith snapped out of their stupor in eaction to the glare. The two shared a look, then Keith turned to Kevin and Swanky.

Swanky was looking around the room, seemingly for somebody or something, so Kevin looked the most considering.

Pidge thought back to last night. Could allying and training with 4 and 1 have negative fallout for Kevin? Last time he'd taken initiative hadn't turned out so well for him.

There was a tense second, but Kevin nodded to Keith.

Keith and Lance scooted over on the bench, then turned to Shiro and Allura.

They were still openly staring at the entire group. Shiro finally turned to look at Allura. Allura met his gaze. They shared a second of eye contact. Then they both looked away and moved to sit on the bench with the rest of the group.

Everybody introduced themselves.

1, 2, 3, 4, and 12 were working together.

\--

“-and he said ‘Have you ever _looked_ at the sky? Those are _obviously_ giant sheep. And I kid you not, I believed him for _years_ ,” Lance said. Everybody was getting cramps from laughing (except the robotic nerds, who were caught up in their own world or reassembling) (and Swanky, who knew what was up with him). Lance smiled proudly. That story was always a crowd-pleaser, whenever he got the chance to tell it.

“I can beat that,” Allura said once she stopped laughing. Lance made a bemused expression. Allura stuck her tongue out at him.

“Anyway, once when I was a kid I woke up early to make my dad breakfast. Let’s just say in the end my father woke up early also, to the sound of fire alarms. He found me standing, crying, in what used to be a kitchen. I’d broken every egg I’d touched, and there was inexplicable batter covering every possible surface. He didn’t want to question my singed hair and clothes, and had trouble walking across the floor to get to me because there was food covering all of it,” Allura said.

“All I’m hearing is that we should never let you anywhere near a kitchen,” Shiro commented.

“Not unless you want blood spilled,” Allura responded grimly.

“Ro would be pleased,” Kevin laughed. Everybody cracked up at that.

“I just _have_ to know, can I ask you about your dress?” Lance questioned Kevin, turning to face him fully and sitting up straight in an impression of Ro.

“Well, Ro, it’s pure red to convey my complete and utter lust for blood. The bow on the front is because I’m a female and girlyness is engrained in my bones and an absolute _must_ for any item of clothing I wear. Should I tell you about my hair next?” Kevin responded, faking energy and flipping what hair he had out of his face.

“Well please. Just _how_ do you get it like that, do tell?” Lance responded.

“I condition with the blood of my enemies. My secret ingredient is bone marrow ground to dust.” Kevin responded easily. Lance laughed nervously.

“That’s all well and good but I have not had a strong enough drink for this.”

“Oh, what do you drink? I prefer orphan tears myself,” Kevin said, still smiley with a scary amount of fake pep.

“No, I only take alcohol spiked with whatever illegal substance is nearby,” Lance said, drawling out his speech. Everybody was busting their gut.

Kevin leaned across the table towards Lance, the grin on his face turning suggestive.

“I’ll have you know I’m quite illegal, Ro,” Kevin said with a wink.  
The table erupted in laughter, all except for Lance.

Lance sputtered, face and neck bright red in a matter of seconds. He was mortified and tried to cover it by coughing and looking around awkwardly. He was leaning slightly towards Keith, who was laughing too hard to be of any solace. Lance shifted, uncomfortable in his obviously too-tight pants.

“Your crush is showing,” Kevin told Lance, voice deep. Lance got a particularly bad bout of coughs.

Once everybody calmed down, Lance smiled weakly. “So what else can you tell me about your dress?”

Everyone chuckled again, except Kevin, who only smiled bigger.

“Well, I would have preferred a suit if I’m being completely honest,” Kevin said. Lance leaned back and put a hand on his sternum, expression morphing into one of disbelief. That’s when Pidge looked up from the engine, gaze zeroing in on Kevin.

“Kevin, honey, as your stylist I _have_ to refuse you the right. You’re definitely made to wear dresses. Besides, pants _obviously_ have some design flaws, just look at _him_ ,” they said, gesturing widely to Lance. Lance shifted again, not-so-subtly trying to hide his not-so-subtle lump.

Pidge went back to the engine as Keith rolled his eyes at Lance.

Everybody just kept laughing.

\--

They were all surprised when Hunk suggested that they all try a fighting simulator, but nobody could see anything wrong with the idea.

The group had been making easy conversation in the past hour as the four tech geeks worked with the engine. They all expected things to go worse than they did, but the ice truly broke when the engine angrily spat a thick gas cloud of waste and ash into Lance's face. Nobody could stop laughing, except Lance, who was busy coughing.

Allura, Shiro, Coran and Mice were starting to really feel like members of the group. Everybody just... _liked_ being around each other. The jokes flowed, the conversation was full, and they all felt a comfortable friendship building.

That could all change in the simulator. Social chemistry and combat chemistry are terrifyingly different things.

They walked into the simulator (though Swanky had apparently found whoever it was he was looking for, because he had a quick conversation with Kevin and left them all as he took off to the other side of the room).

Everyone was tense as the lights dimmed. They all gripped their weapons tighter.

The first fighter bots sprung from the floor in an abrupt fashion, charging the Tributes almost before they could even process that the bots had moved. Allura stepped forward and took the bots down, and that got the rest of the Tributes moving. Pidge, Keith, Shiro, and Allura were all fighting with blades, working in close combat. Hunk, Lance, Coran, and Mice fought with range weapons, covering everybody else as they took out the bots. Kevin was doing a mix of both with throwing knives.

They finished the simulator with deadly efficiency, and everybody was surprised when the bots didn't get back up and the lights turned on again.

They all stood and caught their breath back for a moment, before looking at one another. Everyone was smiling.

"Who wants to go again?" Lance shouted.

Everybody cheered as Shiro shook his head (he was still smiling though, it almost looked like he couldn't help it) and turned to reset the simulator, and put it on a higher level. They got in their fighting stances as the lights dimmed.

\--

The group walked out of the simulator some time later, laughing and sweating and leaning against one another slightly.

They had long since stopped being uncomfortable around each other. Once you save somebody from severe injury via bloodthirsty robot, a special bond tends to form.

They were all standing outside the simulator, talking and laughing and catching their breath (Hey Allura are you from District 10?) (No, why?) (Because you're the only 10 I see) (Hey Lance are you from District 4?) (No, why?) (Because you seem fishy) (Honestly? We expect better from you two).

Kevin was looking around warily, slightly apart from the rest of them. Pidge was instantly on guard when they noticed. Was Kevin looking for the man? Or something else? Finding out why Kevin was on edge could help them all in the long run. Pidge started looking around too, trying to find anything. Just anything.

What Pidge saw was Swanky walking towards the group with three other Tributes, both from 10 and one from 9. They all looked ready to run at any minute.

Pidge glanced back at Kevin. He seemed nervous, but sure. Something was about to go down, and Pidge had a feeling it was big. Significant. Point of no return.

Swanky and the Tributes talked with Kevin for a minute. They were all tense. None of the others had noticed them yet.

Although everyone noticed them when Kevin pointedly cleared his throat to draw the attention of the others.

They all grew silent and looked to Kevin and Swanky. Pidge felt their heart beating faster.

"I hate to say it," Kevin started, "but the Games start the day after tomorrow. One more day of training, then we'll all be in the Arena, either defending each other or killing each other. Not that any of you could kill me or Keith, but I'm trying to make a point.

"Right now, we're all in denial. I get the feeling none of us really want to kill each other, but when it comes down to it, we don't really have a choice. Only, there's another variable that we haven't taken into account. Now, I'm no scientist, but this is a big variable. Life changing. Altering the course of the timeline kind of variable. At crossroads facing West and East kind of variable."

Kevin paused and took a steadying breath. When he started speaking again, it was hushed. The group had to strain to hear him.

"There's more than meets the eye going on here. Killing each other isn't the only option anymore. You can choose something else entirely. And that something? It's a revolution."

Silence. Even Pidge's brain was quiet.

Everybody shut down as they processed what Kevin had said, and the full implications of it.

**-Allura-**

_It didn't have to be her or Shiro._

**-Shiro-**

_It didn't have to be him or Allura._

**-Hunk-**

_They wouldn't all die._

**-Pidge-**

_They didn't have to die.  
_

_They could go back to their mom._

**-Keith-**

_Kevin and Lance could come back alive._

**-Lance-**

_He could see his sisters again.  
_

_He wouldn't see Keith dead._

**-Mice-**

_Coran wouldn't die.  
_

_They wouldn't die._

**-Coran-**

_He and Mice could find what they had lost_.

**\---  
**

Everyone took a breath. Everyone let it go.

Everyone looked back to Kevin.

Kevin smirked at the steel in their eyes.

**-Dex-**

He couldn't believe what he was doing.

Dex could see that other Tributes were slowly drawing together into a bigger group. Logically, that was a bad idea, because they'd all have to kill each other off eventually. A partnership with that many people in it was a bad idea in the Games.

That's what led Dex to believe that there was more to it than that.

Maybe it wasn't just a bunch of allies. It could be something entirely different. A gathering for reasons unknown to him.

As much as Dex didn't want to know, he _really wanted_ to know.

He was working up the nerve to approach them and get a grasp on the situation. It wasn't working out very well. He had no idea how he would go about it, what words he would use. How he would manage to fit in, not seem like some sort of suspicious outsider.

He hated that he was doing this. He hated that he cared so much. This seemed like an all around bad idea. He was probably reading too much into things.

But his gut wouldn't _shut up_ about how he needed to dig deeper into the group.

He had an idea itching at the back of his brain, though he didn't like it very much. It required more things than he was comfortable with. And by things he meant people. His only good plan involved roughly three other people, and it was doubtful any of them would agree to it, so he might as well throw that one in the garbage.

He looked around the room again. There were three other people who might agree to his plan. Maybe. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed the help. It was the best idea he had, and probably the only one that would work.

He resigned himself to the fact that there was no getting out of this and the only way to go from there was forward.

Dex trudged across the room to where Alena was training. He knew this was probably a bad idea. They probably only talked to him before out of pity. They were probably going to kill Dex anyway in the Arena. They probably were going to kill him then and there if he talked to them.

So why did he keep walking forwards?

Alena didn't startle when Dex approached them. Didn't say a thing. Didn't change their body language. They just looked at him as he prepared what words he was going to say.

Now or never.

"I need your help with something."

In hindsight he should have said something different to open. Maybe a bit less cryptic.

Alena just stared at him. He would go so far as to say they were considering. He felt tense. He needed them for his plan. They were the most likely to say no out of all his candidates.

"What do you need?" Alena asked slowly. Dex felt himself release a breath he didn't know he was holding. That sounded a whole lot like a 'Maybe'. Now all he had to do was convince them. He could do that. Possibly.

He lowered his voice and explained his reasoning and his plan to Alena. They didn't change expression throughout.

Dex had long since realized that meant they were thinking something through, and weren't revealing any emotion. It didn't exactly help to be left completely in the dark on how they felt about what he was saying, but he held faith.

Maybe things would work out.

Maybe they would say yes.

Maybe his trust wouldn't be misplaced, for once.

For once.

Maybe.

Hesitantly, Alena nodded their head. Dex felt relief instantly. From this point, his plan could work out. He was a lot closer, anyway. He just needed to convince the other two Tributes.

”I don't need you along for the next part of you don't want...?" Dex said, not wanting to push his luck and assume.

"No, if I'm going to be a part of this, I'm going to be a part of all of it," Alena said, setting down the equipment they were using. Dex waited for them to finish before walking towards his other candidates.

The Tributes from District 8 were working together already, conveniently enough. That made Dex a bit more wary. The more things there are that go right, the more likely it is things'll go wrong. Law of the universe.

He took a breath and marched forward, Alena at his heels. Matt and Shay turned to look at the two of them as they walked up. There was suspicion in their eyes.  
Dex sucked in his gut and closed his eyes for a second, just before letting it all go. A refresher.

"I know that we've never talked before and me asking you for a favor is a bit much, but hear me out. I'm Dex, District 11, equestrian handler. This is my... _partner_ , Alena. I'm trying to get something done. I have a feeling there's more than meets the eye going on here, specifically having to do with the big group of Tributes. I have a plan on how to find out what's going on, but I need help. Your help, hopefully." Dex paused for a moment, and, seeing no hostility towards his proposal, plunged forward into explaining his plan.

Shay and Matt were still guarded at the end of it.

There was a pause. One moment. Two. Three. They dragged out, and Dex couldn't describe his flurry of emotions.

Suddenly, Shay smiled, just a little bit, just enough.

"I am Shay, District 8, dye specialist. I am glad to be of any help I can and see where this goes."

Dex didn't even have time to be relieved before Matt stepped in.

"I'm Matt, District 8, mechanic. I've been wondering the same things you were, Dex. Of course I don't mind helping out. Besides, us Tributes have to look out for each other. Not like anybody else will."

Dex smiled, and they all moved to a table to further discuss the specifics of the plan. Dex was feeling less and less on edge, and more and more sure this might possibly work out maybe. They had to move fast if they wanted it to work, but it was better than nothing at this point.

\--

The four of them moved towards the big group of Tributes that was still standing in front of the simulator. Dex was in the lead, walking carefully and relying on his confidence. He knew they could do this.

"Excuse me," he said, catching the attention of the Tributes, "but do you mind if we use the simulator?"

"No, not at all, sorry about that," the not-so-career from District 1 said. She started moving everybody away from the simulator. Now was their time to move.

**-Alena-**

The next stage of the plan was without doubt a complicated procedure, but Alena felt with just the right amount of balance the four of them might pull it off.

Alena had no clue as to why they were helping Dexter. Or, he liked to be called Dex, correct? Dex. Why was Alena helping Dex?

They told themself it was because they wanted to infiltrate the large group of Tributes and find out what was going on, because they knew _something_ was going on and had spent _days_ trying to figure it out.

They knew that wasn’t _really_ the case.

They knew Dex reminded them of their brother and that was the real reason they were here.

Alena was very good at deceiving themself.

So they waited for Dex and Matt to make the next move. The two would have to do it carefully, this was a delicate operation, and it left Alena wishing they could just do it themself. They could pull it off better anyway.

Dex made an offhand comment while they were walking into the simulator.

Their group was still close enough to the other group of Tributes that the plan would work, but Alena wished they were closer. They nudged their head to the side slightly, pointing, and Matt saw and nodded.

Matt responded to Dex's comment with his own. Dex went right in turn. Matt again, tersely. You could probably feel the rising tension from the back of the room. Good, good, that was part of the plan. They had to be believable.

Matt suddenly (not so suddenly to Alena but it was fine) leapt at Dex, knocking him to the ground. Matt had pushed the two of them closer to the other Tributes, and Alena found they were close enough for the rest of the plan to work right.

Alena and Shay tried to pull the two apart and stop the "skirmish". Others from the big group were doing the same. Matt and Dex kept fighting.

It wasn't happening. They needed one more thing to bring the next stage of their plan into action. Alena tapped the side of their neck. Dex saw.

Dex shouted. It was a wordless shout, and it fit the mood of the setting. It also did what it was meant to do; draw the attention of the Mentors.

A man came over, although whose Mentor he was? Alena had no idea. He quickly broke apart the fight, which everyone was now gathered around, even, Alena noted, the big group.

Everything so far was playing out perfectly. They hoped the rest would go according to the plan as well.

"What is the meaning of this?" The Mentor asked. All four of them started talking at the same time, all four of them told different stories.

"Wait, wait, one at a time. You," he said, pointing to Matt, "What happened?"

Alena knew it was their turn to move.

They sidled around from their standing point to approach the person they had been suspecting from the start. Kevin, District 12. He was the ringleader, that much was obvious.

Kevin stood and watched as the Mentor had a shouting match with a bunch of the gathered Tributes. Things sure had escalated quickly.

Alena crept to stand beside him, silently. The only acknowledgment he gave to their presence was a subtle movement of the head, looking at them slightly.

“You have two options here,” Alena whispered frankly. Kevin recoiled a little bit.

“One, you tell me what you thirteen are planning,” Kevin definitely stiffened at that. It was small, an untrained eye wouldn’t have seen it.

Never let it be said that Alena had an untrained eye.

“Two,” they continued, “You tell me nothing and I get you in _trouble_. Unimaginable trouble.” That was the truth. If Kevin refused to tell them what was happening, he’ll have wished he did.

Kevin was silent and unmoving, and the two of them observed as another Mentor came over, joining the fight between the staff and the Tributes. Even Tributes from the big group were shouting, although Alena didn’t care to make out what was being said.

The only clue to any of Kevin’s thought process was the way his fingers tapped against his leg.

This kid was good, which only increased Alena’s suspicion.

“I would think,” Kevin whispered slowly, “that you already know what’s going on here, and my having to tell you would be obsolete.”

Alena felt somewhat miffed. They hadn’t figured out what was going on with the slowly growing group of Tributes, and it had frustrated them endlessly throughout the past couple of days. They hadn’t slept last night because they stayed up thinking about it. As hard as they tried, _no_ , they _still couldn’t figure it out._

“I would think,” they responded coldly, “that you would be smart enough not to slight me while I hold all the power in this exchange.” The corners of Kevin’s mouth turned up a little bit. Somehow it only made him look more calculating.

“‘All the power’ is a bit of an exaggeration, wouldn’t you say? I’ve no doubt your superiors can get me in trouble. I’ve no doubt mine can get me out.” Kevin turned to face Alena fully, looking them in the eyes. It was a petty play for power, and Alena knew from experience that it was one that worked.

“We’re evenly matched, two pawns directly across from each other on a chessboard,” Kevin told them, voice hushed. He was right. “So what’s your next move, little Galra?”

Kevin’s smile was entirely wicked at this point. Alena wasn’t surprised he knew they were a spy, but Alena would not be outplayed. It wasn’t like they _didn’t_ have a trick up their sleeve.

“Stuck pawns, are we?” Alena whispered, raising an eyebrow. It didn’t wipe the smirk off Kevin’s face.

“Then the only way for either of us to move forward would be outside interference from another piece,” Alena said as they grabbed his shoulders and turned him to face the Tributes from 3. Kevin stiffened and twisted out of Alena's grip, turning to face them. 

The smirk has fallen off Kevin’s face so quickly Alena could hardly believe it was ever there. His eyes glanced towards the Tributes. Alena was the one smirking now. They got him. Their hunch was correct, the one from District 3 that looked like him had to be his brother.

Alena knew brothers were only a complication in the game of chess the two of them were playing. Only this time, that worked in their favour.

Kevin deflated, any pretense of confidence gone. He looked at the floor.

“You really want to know what we’re doing, little Galra?” Alena was aware of the fact that he was being condescending by giving them a nickname, especially one like that. They let it pass.

“Why else would I ask? Do you think I’m here to waste our time?” Alena snapped.

Kevin shook his head. He looked like he was mentally preparing himself for something. The calm and collected trained emissary from moments ago was gone. Alena almost felt a trickle of pride. Almost.

Kevin, though he refused to look up at Alena, smiled a small smile. He made a flourishing gesture with his hand.

“Revolution."

Alena froze. The word rung in their ears. It echoed through their being, almost.

They couldn’t help but think, _You’re kidding._

This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening. Nope. Alena didn’t hear what they just heard, they only needed their hearing checked out, that was all.

Nobody was planning a revolution.

Nobody was planning a revolution.

_Nobody was planning a revolution._

Alena didn’t know what they were feeling, or how they were supposed to feel about this news. Actually, they knew how they were _supposed_ to feel. They were supposed to feel disgust. They were supposed to go immediately to their superiors and report it. They were supposed to wait for their next orders after that.

Why didn’t Alena feel compelled to do any of that? Why did Alena feel… _longing_ almost?

That wasn’t a question either, Alena wasn’t dumb. They knew what was happening.

They were tired of the Galra and their stupid regime, they were tired of their ‘Responsibilities’. They were tired of this, that, and the other.

Alena wanted to go home, Alena wanted to go home more than anything, anything in the world. They wanted it so strongly they felt physical pain at the thought of it, a lurch in their stomach.

Alena wanted to go home. Alena would do anything to get home, _anything_.

But they were tired of looking at the sky and not seeing any stars.

Alena couldn’t believe the choice they were making. They couldn’t believe the things they were thinking. It went against _everything_ they’d done for the past couple of _years_. If they said what they were considering saying, it was all out the window. All of it. There would be no going back.

Alena looked to Dex and Matt and Shay. The three wouldn’t mind if Alena made this choice. In fact, knowing them, they’d agree with it.

What would their brother do? What would he tell them?

At the thought of their brother, an idea occurred to them. Would they get him back faster if they joined the revolution?

If the Galra fell… what would happen to him?

Their choice was made.

“We want in.”

Kevin recoiled, looking up at Alena with confusion evident on his face.

“Of all the things you could have said… all the things you could’ve _done_ … why...?” Kevin was in a state of slight disarray. Alena didn’t know who trained him, but they didn’t do a very good job. He needed to get himself together.

“Do you need your hearing checked out, little revolutionary? I want to join, all four of us do,” Alena said, and the bite in their voice brought Kevin back from his plummeting panic.

“I don’t think I trust you enough to let you in on it, I’m sure you understand,” Kevin said. He was slowly gathering himself back together, recovering from the shock of what Alena had said. Took long enough.

“Don’t you see? You don’t have a choice, you know that just as well as I. We want in. I’m just as tired of the Galra as you are.” Alena couldn’t believe the words coming out of their mouth.

Kevin nodded, though slowly. He spoke like he was carefully choosing his words.

“Revolutionary? I like that. Welcome to the Revolutionaries, Alena. The others are allowed in too, if they wish.” 

Kevin said it with a sense of finality. The conversation was over. Alena nodded and turned to go, but remembered one more thing they should ensure.

“Nobody finds out about this conversation?” Alena asked. They knew it payed to be cautious.

“Honey, you know I need to report it to my superiors,” Kevin said. Alena scoffed.

“Darling, we both know you can lie.”

Kevin paused and gave them a considering look.

“I can’t tell how much I’m going to regret this.”

—

Alena caught Shay’s eye and nodded, and Shay quickly wrapped up the fight.

The Mentors stalked away, grumbling, and everybody bristled. Alena looked to Dex. He was looking at them expectantly.

They were glad they’d taught him finger spelling before they went into this.

They used their body to block their hand from whatever camera might be looking. They knew where the lenses where.

**R-E-V-O-L-U-T-I-O-N**

Dex was taken aback. He froze for a second, just like Alena had. The look in his eyes was a faraway one. He nodded to Alena, slowly. His eyes never refocussed.

The Tributes were quiet as they looked at each other. Now that the fight was over, they felt awkward in the aftermath. This was the time to strike. The first part of Dex’s plan had worked. Part two would be even trickier.

Shay smiled, moving forward to the other Tributes and holding out a hand.

“Sorry about that. I am Shay, District 8, dye specialist. We might as well make nice and see where this takes us, do you not think so?” The air was tense until the yellow one moved forward.

“I’ve got to agree. I’m Hunk, District 2, masonry. The more the merrier, I always say.” With that last remark, Hunk made a pointed look at Kevin. Kevin nodded. Alena caught the exchange. Kevin glanced at them before turning to converse with a few of the other Tributes. Alena grinned to themself. Not Tributes, Revolutionaries.

The Tributes Kevin was talking to looked quickly at Alena, Dex, Shay, and Matt before looking back to Kevin and nodding, then splitting up and going to talk to other Tributes in the group.

Eventually, everybody introduced themselves, smiling, and the atmosphere was slowly clearing. It was a bit of an unspoken thing.

The four of them were a part of the revolution.

What had Alena done?

**-Allura-**

Allura was having a _day_. Joining 2, 3, and 12 was enough of a change in scenery (not that she regretted it, because she didn’t, but it was still a lot), but then… _the revolution_ (Allura almost couldn’t think the word. It brought back too many memories. It was too much) sprung up out of nowhere. It wasn’t as if Allura of all people was going to say no. On top of that they were suddenly partnered with 8 and 11.

Allura glanced at Pidge and Hunk. The two looked calculating, as always. Hunk seemed open to the newcomers, and Pidge looked like they were getting there. Allura would take it.

She had a different idea for this merging of Tributes. As well as the last one worked out, Allura wanted to take a different route this time.

“Well, you guys were going into the simulator, right? The minimum is four, but it’ll take an indefinite number of Tributes above that. Why don’t we all go in?”

People will tell you social chemistry and combat chemistry are terrifyingly different things. Allura agreed. In the end, though, nobody could deny the fact that they played into each other.

Throw them into a social situation and they could make it easily, guises and all. Throw them into a combat setting and it all comes out, like it or not.

There was hesitation as everybody thought about what she had proposed. It wasn’t like they were afraid, they just couldn’t decide if it was a good idea.

This was the Hunger Games.

You choose who you trust.

You choose who you fight.

Before anybody could agree or decide against fighting in the simulator, the announcement system clicked on.

“Tributes! In honor of the Games starting the day after tomorrow, a special training event has been planned for y’all. Afterwards you will have the option of continuing to prepare for the Games in the training room or joining the Mentors in the Dining Hall for a banquet. For now, though, all you have to worry about is the next training exercise. The doors at the back of the Training room are opening to a battle ring. We ask you to move through the doorway and into the ring to receive further instruction.”

A ripple of unease shot through the Tributes. They hadn’t been told about any of this. She had no idea what was coming next, and that both terrified and thrilled her. Surprising the Tributes this close to the Games with a training event? It could be anything.

The Tributes gathered whatever weapons they thought they might need in the sudden training simulation and headed to the back of the room.

She looked at Shiro. He seemes confident as he moved towards the doorway, flanked by Lance and Pidge. The three of them were laughing about something one of them had said. Allura felt a smile on her face.

The “battle room” was noticeably colder than the training room. It was spacious, mostly in grayscale. There were blue windows lining the very top of the walls, and Allura could make out figures standing on the other side of them and looking down. She fought the urge to smile evilly at them, or throw her one of her sais through the window. It probably had a forcefield on it anyway.

The Tributes spaced themselves out around the fringes of the room. Allura had Shiro on her left and Coran on her right. Zarkon was directly across from her. She couldn’t restrain herself from smirking at him, at least. Aside from shifting his weight slightly, he didn’t react.

The announcement system clicked on again, and everybody froze as they waited for the instructions.

“You have roughly two objectives.”

The floor in the center of the room started rising, turning it into a platform. It continued to rise until is was a high stand. The rest of the floor began rising around the center stand, elevating pathways and arches, and parts of the machinery caved in, creating climbing holes and hollows and tunnels throughout the entire ensemble.  
It created a mountainous terrain that took up the entire floor, leaving the Tributes standing in the shadow of the daunting structure.

“Objective one is to get to the top first. Objective two is to make sure nobody gets to the top before you. Drawing blood or inflicting any serious or permanent injury will be penalized severely.” The announcer coughed pointedly. “ _Severely_. Whoever wins the challenge will get a surprise reward. Whoever gets to the top last will get a surprise penalty. May the odds be ever in your favor, Tributes!”

The announcement system turned off and the Tributes fell into their fighting stances. Allura’s brain was going a mile a minute, and she wasn’t sure she liked where it was going.

A surprise penalty could be anywhere from not so bad to deadly, especially this close to the Games. Realistically, Pidge, Lance, or Hunk could have it land on their shoulders. Allura might not know these people well. Allura might not burn the world down for them. She still realized that she could take the penalty easier than them and still have a good chance in the Games. It would mortally wound their prospects. Allura could make do.

The ringer to commence the challenge sounded, and Allura hung back as everybody else charged forward (she would guess, though most of her view was blocked by the mountain).

Everybody else, that is, except Shiro. He hung back as well, and looked to her incredulously when she didn’t make any moves.

Allura was exasperated. Of course Shiro had the same thought process she did.  
Losing the challenge just got a whole lot harder.

Logically speaking, if they didn’t start moving soon the Mentors would have something to say about it. Allura would rather not provoke them, so she signaled to Shiro that they should walk forward.

Shiro nodded and she started moving. Shiro crept along with her, both of them cautiously approaching the mountain.

They only _really_ had to be worried about Zarkon and his crew, who wouldn’t care about how severely they injured the other Tributes. 

At that thought, Allura felt her panic spike. Were Zarkon and his cronies hurting the others in there? Weren’t the others smart enough not to confront him?

Allura remembered that Keith and Kevin existed and realized the answer was probably not. She heaved a sigh. Why did she let affection develop for people who would only get themselves hurt? Why did she let affection develop for anyone?

She didn’t regret it, as long suffering as she was.

“Shiro,” she spoke quietly under the din of the Tributes in the mountain, “do you think we should be worried about the others in there with Zarkon?”

Shiro’s eyes widened as he realized what she was saying, and his body language was immediately more aggressive.

“Maybe we should go in there to moderate,” Shiro said, eyes locked on the nearest entrance to the mountain.

Allura moved forward again, faster this time. Shiro was with her as she entered the tunnel, and the two of them paused for a moment to let their eyes adjust before heading forward through the maze.

There were ups and downs, slides and staircases. They had yet to come across another Tribute or an opening, but they could hear the commotion going on all around them and only walked at a more desperate pace.

It wasn’t that they didn’t trust their allies to hold their own, they just didn’t trust Haggar not to kill them. A completely valid fear, in Allura’s opinion.

Allura and Shiro finally came across an opening in the wall that led out from the tunnels. They climbed through it gratefully and scaled the wall it opened from.

What they came across was havoc.

There was a carved out floor of the mountain, open walls with only arching supports to keep it up. It looked like a lot of the Tributes were there in a mini battle royale. At a glance, Allura could see Sendak, Haxus, Mice, Nyma, Rolo, Matt, Shay, Pitt, Xan, and Dex.

She wasn’t surprised that Hunk, Pidge, Lance, and Keith were off someplace else. Pawn was obviously too smart to get caught up in this, Alena, Kevin, Zarkon and Haggar too skilled to be here with the rest, and were probably higher on the mountain. There were a million excuses for a million people to be in a million places. Allura guessed that was why the Mentors thought it would be a good challenge.

Mice could take care of themself, Allura knew that much, so she nudged Shiro to keep moving. Shiro turned and took the lead, guiding the two of them to the outer paths that twisted around the mountain. The paths would give them fairly good coverage to caves and tunnels, while still taking them steadily to the top and keeping them aware of their surroundings.

Allura and Shiro moved slowly enough to be careful, but quickly enough that they could remain hopeful about finding their allies before Zarkon.

Allura heard thudding footsteps and indistinct shouting from one of the tunnels, and pointed it out to Shiro.

He acknowledged her by turning into the tunnel, Allura close behind.

Allura got her weapons ready as she and Shiro made their way through the tunnel and closer to the shouting.

Allura didn’t know if she felt relief or panic when she realized the shouting voice was _definitely_ Lance.

Keith could be with Lance, or Kevin, or even by himself, but finding Lance was a good thing whether or not Keith was with him. While Keith was, by nature, more confrontational, Lance, by nature, attracted more trouble. Finding Lance was a good thing. If Keith was with Lance it would be an extremely good thing.

When Allura and Shiro turned a corner and bumped into Lance, they shouldn’t have been surprised. They weren’t, really, the boy was as sneaky as a freight train. The real surprise was the fact that they ran into Pidge too.

Allura was instantly glad that Lance was found, and Pidge on top of that. Pidge was small, and likely younger than the rest of them. Allura felt better knowing they were someplace safe.

Lance and Pidge didn’t even say hi, or hesitate after the fall. They jumped back to their feet and started running down the tunnel again, Pidge pulling Allura by the wrist and Lance pulling Shiro by the hand as they sprinted down corridors.

“Zarkon,” Lance panted as he ran, in lieu of an explanation. Pidge looked too out of breath to say anything.

Allura couldn’t tell whether she wanted to fight Zarkon or not. It was pretty obvious Lance and Pidge had been running for a while, but how long really? Was Zarkon still chasing them? How well would her fight with Zarkon go if she had to avoid spilling blood?

When Pidge’s panting turned to gasping turned to wheezing turned to red-in-the-face barely breathing, Allura decided she was going to step in. She knew she could take Zarkon, and she knew Shiro could take Zarkon. Together, the two of them had guaranteed victory.

Allura stopped running, Shiro with her. Pidge tugged weakly on her wrist, but bent over to catch their air and quickly gave up trying to run again. Lance, on the other hand, was a bit more persistent. He tugged Shiro’s hand so hard that Shiro lost his balance for a moment.

“He’s catching up,” Lance breathed, “We gotta go. We gotta _go. Now._ ” Allura was unsettled by the fear on his face.

“Don’t worry about it Lance, we’ll take care of Zarkon,” Allura said comfortingly. Lance shook his head and pulled on Shiro’s hand again, but Shiro carefully twisted out of his grip. Lance seemed to give up and moved back leaned against a wall, tilting his head to rest on it, breathing deeply. Lance definitely wasn’t looking too hot, and Pidge was obviously in bad condition.

“You okay Pidge?” Lance breathed. Pidge nodded, their shoulders hunched. It wasn’t exactly convincing. 

Allura took up her fighting stance, looking back the way they came. Shiro was tenser than her, and his teeth were gritted. Allura couldn’t believe how fond they’d grown of these other Tributes. With the revolution to add on? There was no backing out anymore. Allura didn’t think that was a bad thing.

She heard approaching footsteps that were so heavy they _had_ to be Zarkon’s.

Her knuckles were white as she heard a lapse in the double gasping from behind her.

Zarkon _would not_ get to Pidge and Lance. Allura wouldn’t let him.

When his bulky form turned the corner of the tunnels, Allura felt her heart beat faster. She was scared for her allies. She was scared for Shiro. She was scared for herself.

“Do you really want to fight us, Zarkon?” She asked, loud and clear. Zarkon smirked and kept walking forward, drawing his new weapon of choice. A broadsword, lined with black and shaped with wicked arches.

Allura could beat that sword. She _knew_ it.

They stood for a moment, the groups facing each other, until Zarkon charged forward. Allura brought up her sais to hold off the oncoming attack. It was aimed at her.

While Zarkon was open, Shiro whipped around and hit him in the pit of his stomach with a punch hard enough to leave anyone else bleeding.

Zarkon was not anyone else.

Allura swiped away from her defensive stance and brought the sais up again, following through the circle and making a direct attack at Zarkon. Zarkon moved out of the way and swung his broadsword, fast and deadly. Allura wasn’t surprised as she ducked, hitting a low attack but not getting any reaction from Zarkon. 

Shiro doubled back and managed to catch a hold of Zarkon’s wrist, which he twisted violently and shoved up behind his back. He back-elbowed Zarkon in the spine, with so much force it would usually shatter bone. Zarkon fumbled, but it didn’t seem to faze him much at all, and he went easily into the next attack.

Allura was confused as to how Shiro’s hits weren’t taking Zarkon down.

“Armor,” Pidge wheezed from the wall. The natural fighting flow was broken slightly from the unexpected interruption. Allura couldn’t believe what she had just heard.

She concentrated on Zarkon’s Tribute uniform. She could see the outline of some hard body armor beneath it. There was no way that wasn’t cheating.

Allura made a quick slash, and Zarkon’s uniform tore beneath her blade. The armor was revealed.

“Tectonic armor,” Pidge breathed, “weakness points under the pectorals and along the sides of the ribcage, as well as behind the knees.”

Allura and Shiro jumped to take advantage of their new information, Allura attacking Zarkon on the sides of his chest and Shiro taking care of his ribcage. Zarkon was careful to block and dodge every move, which made him slower but still unbeaten.

Allura shook the sweat off her face and continued to fight Zarkon with Shiro, only hoping really that they would wear him down enough that he’d make a mistake in his defenses. They needed an opening.

Concentrating on winning against Zarkon was a bit harder when Allura and Shiro heard the sounds of a second fight going on behind them. There was a sudden shout, seemingly from pain. They both froze for a second, wanting to look but being unable to turn away.

They moved fast at that point, working to immobilize Zarkon in order to see the situation behind them. Allura moved fast, but maybe not fast enough.

There was a second shout, and Allura felt her veins pulsing with her heartbeat. Sweat was running into her eyes.

Side of the stomach. Rib cage. Back of the knees.

In a split second choice, Allura dove and turned, slicing her sais over the backs of Zarkon’s knees. His legs buckled, though he recovered quickly. It was just enough for Shiro to sneak in a hard rib shot, which left Zarkon doubled over for a moment.

Allura knew she had to take advantage of that moment. She stepped for momentum, then used her hip and _pushed_ Zarkon out the window closest to them. They heard a thud as he hit the surface below it.

Allura and Shiro whipped around to find out who was hurt and _who they were going to have to fight_ and were immediately met with Haggar looming there, a wicked smile on her face.

There was a taser in her hand, and Lance had sunk to sit against the wall, curling in on himself. Pidge was next to him, leaning against him heavily and position just as telling for pain.

How Haggar got a taser was one question. How badly she had hurt Pidge and Lance was another.

Allura and Shiro both knew she wouldn’t have time to be answering questions as they advanced on her. Allura noted with pride that Haggar was already half-beat. Her cloak was rumpled, and she was heavily favoring her right side. Her shoulder was bent weirdly.

“Felldic armor,” Pidge informed them breathily, “weakness being the entire back.” Allura and Shiro nodded. Pidge curled in on themself again.

Allura and Shiro worked together fast, and Haggar was down within the minute. Not to say the two didn’t feel slightly sparky at the end of it, but Haggar hadn’t even managed more than a few good hits.

Allura and Shiro moved to their injured allies. They were waved off, Pidge and Lance quickly getting their breath back.

“I’ve been electrocuted plenty of times back home, District 3 and all. That was more _intense_ than I’m used to, but I’m fine.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve been shocked plenty of times from my inventions. That taser wasn’t even well charged. The thing packed a punch, but nothing bad.” Lance and Pidge assured them, respectively.

Since Pidge and Lance seemed fine, overall their group was in pretty good shape.

The problem was that the group wasn’t all together.

They still needed to find Hunk, Keith, Kevin, Swanky, Coran and Mice. Not that all of them were in danger, which was Allura and Shiro’s main reason for seeking out Lance and Pidge in the first place, but Keith and Kevin definitely needed somebody watching over them, and Hunk liked being in groups more than flying solo.

Pidge and Lance both had their hair standing on end, but they confirmed they felt well enough to keep going. They pulled themselves to their feet and got moving, Allura and Shiro in the lead, to the outer end of the tunnel. The tunnel opened to a twisting pathway that led to the top of the mountain. It was hidden if you were looking from any other angle, so it was their best chance to get anywhere.

“You two go on ahead, and try not to fight anyone on your way up,” Allura said. Shiro nodded. Pidge and Lance froze in place.

“Aren’t you coming to the top too?” Lance asked carefully. Allura didn’t want to reveal her plans to take the penalty, the two would protest endlessly. She may be stubborn, but so were they. Not as stubborn as her but still, it was enough to pose a problem.

“We want to go find the others. You guys have taken enough hits already, just head to the top,” Allura said. Pidge looked like they were about to protest, Lance right behind them, but Shiro cut in.

“We don’t want you to get hurt any more than you already have. Every moment we spend arguing is another moment the others are left without whatever help they might need. Listen to somebody else for once and go to the top, _please_.”

It was curt, but they didn’t exactly have time for arguments.

Pidge still looked like they had something to say, but Lance just gently tugged them up towards the pathway. Pidge went with him after a second. The two threw a backwards glance at Allura and Shiro, then turned and made their way up the pathway. 

Shiro and Allura watched them for a moment before going back into the tunnels. Allura had no idea as to where they would find Keith and Kevin and Hunk, but if she had to guess they would be closer to the top. Judging by the way Shiro turned down the hallway that led to a staircase, he was thinking the same thing.

The stairs went up quite a few levels, and Allura took them two at a time as she ascended. 

Shiro paused at a window that turned into a ledge on the outside of the mountain. Allura didn’t know why until she heard the heavy breathing.

Shiro climbed onto the ledge, followed quickly by Allura. She scanned her surroundings when she was on the ledge, and nothing in particular caught her eye. She turned and climbed the side of the mountain, finding the slight hand and footholds easily enough. 

She came across an isolated nook in the side of the mountain, a figure curled up inside.

Really, she’d dealt with enough injured people today.

At the sound of their approach, the figure shot up, drawing a knife from a sheath up their sleeve. Allura froze in place and waited for her eyes to adjust so she could see which Tribute they had found. 

She was surprised when it was a flustered and tired Kevin that met her eyes.

He’s too smart to get himself badly injured in a training exercise like this, and he definitely should’ve been with Swanky. So why was he alone and wounded?

He’d been fine earlier in the day, as far as Allura could remember. Hadn’t he? The more questions Allura came up with, the more answers were revealed to her. He’d been guarded and careful all day, tense during physical training and flinching on certain movements. 

Things were clicking in Allura’s head, and the nature of the injury was likely to leave him out of breath in a nook. Bruising to the stomach, for sure. 

She came back to herself when Shiro stood at her side, and decided it was time to get moving. 

“Kevin, it’s us. We were looking for you to make sure you were all right. We aren’t going to hurt you.”

Kevin lowered his arm, and his shoulders were sagging in relief. He murmured a sorry and walked slowly up to Allura and Shiro. He was curling around his stomach. 

“Are you injured?” Allura asked, slowly.

She could’ve been less blunt about it, but she was feeling slightly uneasy and wanted to get moving. 

Kevin snapped his head up to look her in the eyes, his expression a mix of a glare and a smile. He looked almost relieved.

“No,” he said easily. He moved past Allura and Shiro and jumped down the wall to the ledge that they had started on. He looked back up at them, with his stance wider and his torso tenser. Definitely a stomach wound. 

“Are you coming? There’s a path to the top in this direction, isn’t there?”

As much as Allura wanted to find the others, staying with Kevin seemed like a good choice. They were only about halfway up the mountain, and coming across any other Tributes was a very real possibility. Allura didn’t want Kevin to fight them alone in that condition. The others could probably handle themselves, Keith, Hunk, and Coran were capable people. 

Decision made, she turned to Shiro. She could tell he’d thought the same as her, but was definitely feeling hesitation about leaving the others to fend for themselves.

“They’ll be fine,” Allura told him softly. He smiled, small and quick, then nodded to her. 

Not one to be shown up, Allura jumped down the wall to the ledge like Kevin had. He smirked at her. Neither of them expected Shiro to come down like a ton of bricks.

Shiro crashed hard on the ledge, lying face down. He was groaning. Allura wasn’t processing what had just happened. Kevin was laughing. 

Allura reached down and pulled Shiro up, letting a smile crawl over her face. Shiro was dizzy and couldn’t get his balance for a moment, but seemed well enough. He put a palm to his forehead and groaned again. Kevin was busting up, and a quick laugh escaped Allura.

Shiro smiled a little, and suddenly Allura couldn’t stop laughing. It was loud and reckless, and it traveled with Kevin’s through the tunnels. She felt tears in her eyes. 

“You were just a blur,” she choked out, “and then suddenly— _thud_.” Kevin laughed harder at her comment, sounding almost hysterical. Allura couldn’t breathe, she was laughing too much.

“No, no, it was more of a _boom_.” Kevin said. They both laughed more. Shiro was smiling bigger now, and was sheepish. He seemed like he was trying to hold in his own laughter. 

“Okay, enough with the bad sound effects. Besides, it was more of a _crrrk_.” Shiro said. Allura could hear the irony in his voice.

“That’s probably cause you broke your nose with that fall. You landed _flat on your stomach_ ,” Kevin breathed before laughing more. Allura snorted. 

They calmed down after a minute, and by that point Shiro had a bleeding nose. He was taking care of it as the three moved through the tunnels, looking to find another staircase or pathway.

“Are there going to be severe consequences for you since you drew your own blood?” Kevin asked thoughtfully. Shiro shook his head. 

“If one of the other Tributes hurt me, that’d be premature battle and would give them an unfair advantage in the Arena, but nobody cares if I have an unfair _disadvantage_. They care if somebody else is ahead, but they don’t care if anybody falls behind. That makes it more interesting, for some reason,” Shiro explained. His voice was slightly nasally and Allura had to stop herself from cracking up again.

Kevin nodded at Shiro’s answer, gaze wandering over the blank walls. Allura didn’t know what to say to him. She couldn’t get past the fact that he was badly hurt. 

He was probably thinking about what Shiro had just said, “Nobody cares if I have an unfair disadvantage”. His injury would be a disadvantage in the Arena, for sure, but if one of the other Tributes had done it to him, he’d get treatment.  
So would he blame somebody for it just to get treatment? Or was he actually hurt by another Tribute and considering exposing them? If he was hurt by another Tribute, why hadn’t he exposed them already?

The three of them found a ladder that went up the wall quite a ways, and Shiro stepped back to let Kevin go first. 

“Well, if you insist,” Kevin said as he moved forward, “Hope you enjoy the view.” Kevin looked back and smirked at Shiro before starting up the ladder.

Shiro, beet red, moved to go after him. Allura was working to contain her laughter again. 

The ladder ended on a shelf that overlooked a large cavern, but you would have to jump across ledges lining the walls to advance from their position.

Allura was fine with jumping, but she was instantly worried about Kevin’s condition, and she wasn’t so sure she trusted Shiro to jump any more. 

She gauged the distance to the next ledge. It was only slightly elevated compared to the shelf they were on, and the fall wasn’t that hard. It was far enough away to be daunting but an easy jump.

Kevin looked like he wouldn’t be climbing back down the ladder, so Allura had a feeling they were jumping. 

“You two go first,” she said, moving back. Shiro nodded and went to jump, stalling on the edge for only a second before leaping forward.

He landed on the next ledge, hard, on his right side. Allura didn’t know how he managed to pull that off, but she guessed Shiro just had an innate talent for not being graceful midair. 

Kevin took a running leap, and he landed on the ledge with a roll. Allura scoffed at the show and took a careful jump across, landing lightly on the balls of her feet.

So the group went, jumping through to the other side of the cavern. Shiro was sure to have some nasty bruises developing, and Kevin was finding increasingly creative ways to get over the gaps. Despite his injury, he managed to pull off a frontflip, a backflip, a handspring, jumping _off the wall_ to push himself onto the ledge, and a creative swan dive. 

At one point he did a running leap directly towards Shiro, who fumbled for a second but still caught Kevin. Kevin laughed after that.

Allura tried the same thing and Shiro dropped Kevin to catch her. Kevin had the breath knocked out of him when he hit the floor, but still laughed just as hard as the rest of them. Shiro apologized profusely. 

Allura was almost disappointed when they reached the end of the jumps, but her relief outweighed any other emotion. From their new standing point, there was a clear pathway to the top of the mountain.

Once again they let Kevin take the lead as they moved up the pathway. The uneasy feeling Allura was having in the nook with Kevin was growing stronger. She gripped her sais tightly. No risks could be taken at this point. 

Shiro read her body language in a flash and was instantly on guard, muscles tense and eyes scanning every inch of their surroundings.

Kevin kept moving forward confidently. Out of the corner of her eye, Allura saw a nook in the side of the mountain. She could _barely_ make out a figure crouched in the depths of the nook. She subtly nudged Shiro’s arm, tapping lightly against his wrist twice. Their signal for ‘ _Don’t look now_ ’ . Shiro nodded slightly, just enough she saw but nobody else would. 

Ambush from behind. Meter and a half wide pathway. High elevation, nearly at the top of the mountain. One figure spotted, possible opportunity for more.

There were three of them, but Kevin was injured. If somebody was hiding instead of moving further up when they were this close to the top, that meant that they were waiting for somebody or were unable to continue forward. Kinder to assume the latter. Safer to assume the former. 

Assume the former.

Assume you are the target. 

Assume fighting stances.

Allura heard footsteps from behind the three of them, but only because she was listening. Whoever this person was, they were good. 

Allura and Shiro whipped around at the same time, adopting their defensive positions and drawing the same conclusions in their heads from the same questions.

If you asked Kevin, the two of them were scarily in sync with each other.

The Tribute that Shiro and Allura were met with wasn’t who they were expecting (namely: Zarkon).

The Tribute they were met with was Thace.  Neither of them lowered their weapons as he cautiously approached, holding his hands up in a nonthreatening gesture. 

“I was just making sure everybody made it to the top safely. You three are the last ones. I’ll take the penalty myself if you don’t want me to pass, but I mean you no harm.” Thace said slowly, maintaining eye contact with Allura and Shiro.

Allura tapped her foot four times. Shiro hesitated, but he tapped his foot once. Allura tapped her foot twice, then moved to the side. Shiro did the same. There was an opening for Thace, but if he made one wrong move Allura and Shiro would be on him faster than he could _comprehend_. 

Thace strolled through the opening Allura and Shiro made. Allura was running through all the information she had on Thace, but found it was next to nothing. Ex-Galra. Traitor for the people. And that was about it. He revealed nothing about his personality at any point in time. The only conclusions they could draw were from his body language, which was extremely contradictory and still revealed next to nothing.

Allura found that she didn’t trust him. 

Kevin looked away when Thace walked past him, pointedly trying to avoid eye contact. Thace paused for a moment in front of Kevin, but kept walking when Allura shifted her weight.

It was an act of cooperation, but it told her he saw the small things. He noticed a slight shift in her movement. Either he was watching her or was very observant. Probably both, in the end. Ex-Galra. 

They would need to keep an eye on him.  
Allura didn’t drop he stance until Thace was well out of sight. After he turned the corner, she counted ten seconds before relaxing. Shiro did the same. Kevin was acting slightly huffy, looking at the two of them and rolling his eyes.

“Shouldn’t we keep going? Galra guy over there already said we’re the last ones. The only thing we have to worry about now is who’s getting the penalty.” Kevin said, slowly walking backwards. Allura and Shiro caught up with him and he turned around, moving smoothly with his hands tucked in his pockets. 

“Won’t be a problem,” Allura and Shiro stated at the same time. Kevin paused for a minute, but kept going.

“So which one of you will it be?” He asked slowly. 

Allura looked to Shiro. She knew she wouldn’t let him take the penalty, never. He had too much on his back already, she could tell from the look in his eyes. He was worn down. He’d lived beyond his years.

Allura was taking the penalty. It wouldn’t be hard. She would be fine, and she knew that. She just had to convince Shiro. 

“Me,” Allura and Shiro stated at the same time. Allura gave Shiro a look. He responded in turn.

“Here’s a proposal,” Kevin said, “Whichever one of you gets to the top first gets to take the penalty. A race.” Allura could do a race. Allura could win a race. 

“All right,” Allura and Shiro stated at the same time, still glaring at each other.

“Three two one go,” Kevin said quickly, but neither Allura or Shiro was fazed, and they took off at the same time, sprinting to the top of the mountain. 

Allura was frustrated. Shiro was on equal ground with her, and whenever she sped up, so did he. She had no idea how he kept up so well, but he did.

They both got to the top, and were panting as they stepped off the pathway. They looked at each other. They looked at the threshold of the path. They looked at each other again. 

Neither of them knew who got first.

“It was me,” Shiro said, pushing Allura towards the pod that would take them out of the room and record their place. Allura shook her head and dug her heels in the ground. 

“I got here first,” she told Shiro, moving around him and shoving him hard in the direction of the pod. Shiro purposefully tripped over himself and stumbled to the floor, where he promptly sat down. He crossed his arms and looked up at Allura.

“I’m not moving.”

Allura plopped down across from Shiro and took up the same position.

“Well, neither am I.” 

The two sat there, glaring at the other as if that would make them get into the pod. Kevin rounded the corner and chuckled at the sight of them. 

“Try a pushup contest next,” he laughed. Allura and Shiro both straightened their spines, looking at the other for a moment before scrambling into pushup position.

Kevin cracked up as they started doing pushups at the same time, moving with a fervor that he was scared by. He walked carefully around them and stepped into the pod, watching still as he was elevated out of the ring. 

Allura and Shiro went on for a while. Both of them wore out at the same time.

“Truce?” Shiro proposed through clenched teeth. Allura nodded and they both fell over, catching their breath. 

“Thumb war,” Allura breathed out. Shiro rolled to his side, and Allura faced him. They put out their right hands, clasping them together to play the child’s game.

Neither could win, no matter how they maneuvered their digits. 

“Truce?” Allura proposed playfully. Shiro nodded and they both let go. The laid facing each other.

“Words that start with ’S’, no hesitation. Go” Allura said. 

“Star,” Shiro said immediately.

“Shiro.” 

“Sun.”

“So.”

“Sew,” Shiro made a sewing motion with his hand to clarify. Allura would let it pass.

“Some.”

“Sum, like addition,” Shiro added, looking contemplative.

“Sky,” Allura said. He wouldn’t find one for that.

“Ski.” So they were playing that game now.

“Skate.”

“Scare.”

“Scum.”

“Scott.”

“Scapula.”

“Spatula.”

“Stove.”

“Stole.”

“Soul.”

“Sole,” Shiro said, tapping the bottom of his foot. Allura wanted to laugh. Allura laughed.

“Shawl.”

“Small.”

“Skull.”

“Scamper.”

“Succotash.”

“Stash.”

“Stare.”

“Store.”

“Stop, stop, stop! Stop this or you both get the penalty,” the announcement system projected. Allura and Shiro were silenced.

“Play rock paper scissors or something, but don’t waste any more of our time with your lovers quarrel.” The system clicked off, and Shiro and Allura just stared at each other for a second. 

Allura dove forward and pushed Shiro towards the pod. Shiro resisted her efforts, twisting out of her grasp and rolling behind her, pushing her towards the pod in moments. Allura pulled the same maneuver he did, making sure to push with a stronger grip. Shiro struggled out of the push, stood up, and pulled Allura to her feet. He pushed her again, and she stumbled further. She pulled Shiro along with her. She used the momentum of her stumble to pull Shiro around so he’d fall into the pod. He threw his arms out at the last moment and held himself against the rim.

"Allura, don’t do this, I’ll take the penalty,” Shiro said, looking her in the eye. She only smiled and shook her head before pushing him just a bit more. He fell into the pod, and looked up at her. Amused? Betrayed? Something. 

Allura didn’t regret her choice.

She took the next pod up.

**-Matt-**

After the training exercise was over, the Mentors gave everyone juice and let the Tributes loose into the training room while they prepared the banquet.

Matt was unsure about whether he actually wanted to go to the banquet or not. It sounded like it would be stuffy and boring. 

The other Tributes were making small talk with each other in the middle of the training room, some of them going further into actual conversation.

Zarkon and his crew were separated from the clumped group but that didn't stop them from sipping their juice, as they were avoiding training just as much as the rest of the Tributes. Thace and Nyma and Rolo were in a similar situation. 

Even the Tributes that didn’t want to socialize certainly weren’t training.

The mountain exercise wasn’t exactly energy consuming. Matt got caught on the battle level of the mountain for a while, but nobody really wanted to hurt each other, and they all realized they were wasting time by standing around throwing fake hits.

After that Matt steadily made his way to the top, working through tunnels and over obstacles and eventually up a pathway to the finish.

So no, it wasn’t energy consuming. It wasn’t hard. It was just _draining_. 

The fact that there was only one day of training left before the Games was lurking in the back of everybody’s minds.

They all smiled through it, pushed the thought away, and tried to distract themselves with other people. 

For some, it worked. For others, not so much.

None of this was what Matt was having trouble with. Matt was struggling with the fact that his sister had been electrocuted in the exercise. 

Matt had been feeling a trickle of panic inch through his limbs ever since he found out. Electrocutions could be a lot of things. Deadly. Painful. Harmful. Permanent. Shocking.

Matt didn’t like the fact that Pidge had been electrocuted. Apparently, not only had she been electrocuted, she’d been tased. Tasers burn. Tasers hurt. 

Matt felt itching under his skin. He wanted to do something, drained as he was. He wanted to go to his sister and hug her. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to be near her. Matt missed Pidge.

Since the first day he’d been transferred, he’d missed Pidge. He’d thought back on their childhood and hoped to see her again. He’d wished on every star he charted. He thought of her when he needed to keep going. When he couldn’t keep going. 

And she was _right across the room_ from him, smiling and laughing. She didn’t know he was there. She didn’t know who he was.

Matt just wanted his sister back. 

Matt contemplated while he sipped his juice. Would it really be that bad if he just walked up to Pidge and hugged her? Probably. That didn’t reduce his urge to do so. There was a voice in his head that told him he just needed to tell her, in the end that was his only option. He needed to tell her. He couldn’t not tell her.

 _Today_ , he promised himself, _I’ll tell her first chance I get._

His ‘First chance’ came a lot sooner than he expected when Pidge plopped down next to him on the floor. He was so surprised he spat out his juice. Pidge laughed as he wiped it off his chin. Pidge laughed. _He made Pidge laugh_. It brought back so many memories. He felt light. He was smiling fondly.

“Hey,” Pidge said, “I realized everybody else was getting along great and we hadn’t even talked. I’m Pidge, District 2, scavenger.”

Matt had to swallow the lump in the back of his throat. Pidge had changed. Her voice had changed. Her attitude had changed. He missed her.

He was excited though. He got to meet her and get to know her all over again. 

“I’m Matt, District 8, mechanic. Strange how we haven’t talked yet, you’d think we would have more to talk about with our common interest in machinery. In fact, we’re so alike in that it’s almost like we _grew up together_.” Matt was hoping to build up to the blow.

“Yeah, you don’t find a lot of people in Panem who’re interested by engineering, let alone good at it. We should swap tips sometime,” Pidge said. Matt grew excited at the thought.

“I look forward to it. Do you have a lot of shortcuts? That kind of thing usually comes from an _older brother._ ” Matt had no idea on how to go about this. Pidge was making conversation so easily with him. She had no idea. She had no idea everything was about to change.

“Well, my brother did teach me a lot.”

“Yeah? What’s your brother like? How much did he _matt_ er to you?” He had reduced himself to puns.

“He, uh, mattered quite a bit I guess. We were really young, I don’t remember much about him. He was a genius though.” 

“So he’s not around anymore? He’s _left from you_?” Pidge gave him a bit of a weird look. That one _was_ a bit of a stretch, but it didn’t change the fact that he was sitting on Pidge’s left.

_Come on Pidge, look to your left. Look to your left, use that brain I know you’ve got. Look to your left and see._

“Well, yeah. He was transferred when we were young. Just too smart, I guess. Do you have any siblings?”

“I have a younger sister. We’re _really close_.”

“Oh man, I’m sorry you had to leave her home for the Games. That must be devastating.”

“It wasn’t easy. It almost seemed like I was being transferred.” 

“Guess I know how my brother felt then.”

“Yeah. I’m sort of in your brother’s shoes right now.”

“What was your sister like?”

“Short and brilliant. Really good with machines.”

“We sound similar,” Pidge chuckled. Matt was struggling to keep a normal act together.

“You two are practically the same person.”

“Except I’m not a girl. Bit of a difference there.” 

Matt felt all of the air leave his lungs.

Everything went slow around him. Pidge… _really had_ changed while he was gone. He’d known that before, but this was a big thing. A colossal thing. Matt had missed so much. Matt wasn’t there for so much. Pidge was alone for _so much._ It scared him a little. 

“What’re your pronouns then?” He asked. He had to be sure. He refused to misgender his little sibling.

“I go by they/them actually.” 

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

There was a quick lapse in conversation before Pidge jumped back in.

“You remind me of my brother too, you know. You hold your shoulders the same way.”

“Yeah? That’s funny. We’re practically the same person now too. It’s like we’re _one big family_.” Matt was really running on fumes here. He just had no idea how to tell them.

“Shame we got Reaped and he got transferred. The four of us would’ve gotten along great, in another life.”

“That we would.” Matt paused for a moment before he took the plunge.

“Where was your brother transferred to?” He asked. Pidge smirked at him. 

“Guess.”

Matt was suddenly hit hard by a wave of nostalgia. How many times had Pidge done that to him when they were children?

“District 8?” He asked hesitantly. He watched their expression change.  
How many times had he been right?

“How would you know…?” Pidge asked, their voice falling away from the sentence. 

How many times had Pidge asked him that same question? He felt like he’d travelled through time. He knew, somewhere in his gut, that this was it.

Now. 

He smiled at his sibling.

“I’m just a good guesser.” 

Matt watched as Pidge’s eyes grew wider, just a fraction. They froze. They were probably being hit by just as much nostalgia as Matt. Remembering the hundred different times they had played this game, the hundred different times they’d laughed and smiled. Pidge was remembering. Matt felt shaky.

“Hey, little sibling,” he said, drawing out they ‘Hey’. “It’s sure been a while.”

**-Pidge-**

“I’m just a good guesser.” That was the kicker.

They’d heard that line before a hundred times, a thousand times, a million times. They’d played it over and over in their head, trying to save it. Treasure it. Manifest it. Trying to remember it as it slipped away.

 _How_ had they been so _stupid_? Of course… of course it was _him_. _It was him._ Right there. Everything Pidge had forgotten, everything Pidge had suppressed, came rushing back to them.

It was him. 

No, not ‘Him’. It was Matt. It was their brother.

They had a brother. They felt themself smile. 

“Hey, older brother,” they said, drawing out they ‘Hey’. “Nice to see you again.”


	5. Snack Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am updating this late and I'm so sorry.  
> But the response this fic has gotten is insane! Over 50 kudos now! Thank you so much for reading (yo Elbeamo ya_ya_rose whichlights and emma I actaully screamed when I saw your comments thank you? So much? Thank)  
> Right so. This chapter was literally a mistake. The banquet got out of hand very quickly, and I blame my beta reader. This chapter has one sided Larkon, alcohol, and lots of fire, so beware.  
> Hope you enjoy!  
> PS Pitt is unstoppable.

**-Lance-**

Lance didn’t know what was in the juice that the Mentors gave the Tributes, but he did know that it tasted good. It had more sugar than anything he’d tasted in his entire _life_. It was so prominent that he almost spat the juice out when he first took a sip, but he quickly learned to appreciate the taste. Although he couldn’t even tell what kind of fruit it came from.

Whatever it was, it rejuvenated him. The spot where he’d been hit by Haggar’s taser still hurt, but it chafed against his uniform less. Before it had burned. Now it just stung.

As soon as he realized that he contemplated whether he should throw the freak juice across the room and watch it splatter on the wall or guzzle down as much of it as he could. He had a small collection of bruises and aches, who wouldn’t at this point, and he was sure he’d thank himself later if he drank the juice.

In the end, his decision was made for him. His tastebuds yearned for more of the overwhelming sugar.

A Mentor frowned at him as he guzzled the rest of his juice. Hunk and Mice were quietly chanting ‘ _Chug chug chug chug_ ’ at Lance’s side. Lance wondered where Pidge was, usually they’d be there to either try and chug more than him or warn him he’d get a stomach ache. The Mentor beat them to it though.

“You’ll give yourself a stomach ache,” The Frowning Mentor said, and Lance found that when the phrase came from The Frowning Mentor it was a lot less amusing than when Pidge used it.

Lance maintained eye contact with The Frowning Mentor as he reached to his left and picked up Keith’s abandoned juice box, downing what was left in it. Keith wouldn’t mind. The Frowning Mentor didn’t look away, and something in Lance’s gut flared. So that’s how he wanted to play it.

This was a competition now.

Lance smirked as he brought his arm down, licking his lips and watching The Frowning Mentor as his face became slightly taken aback. He grinned, but The Frowning Mentor only scowled more and didn’t look away.

Mice and Hunk were whispering encouragements to the battle Lance was fighting, quietly booing the Mentor from behind their partner.

Lance made his next move, secretly holding his hand out to Hunk and Mice behind him. He felt a juice pouch press into his palm. Perfect. If he made it three for three, The Frowning Mentor wouldn’t stand a chance.

Neither Lance nor The Frowning Mentor looked away as Lance quickly brought the juice box to his mouth. He threw his head back and drank the juice as fast as he could, and his limbs were buzzing.

He’d forgotten about the healing abilities.

He felt slightly twitchy as the last of the juice fell down his throat, and looked back up to The Frowning Mentor. At this point, he’d gone from frowning to scowling darkly at Lance. Lance smirked at him, amused by the whole ordeal. The Frowning Mentor rolled his eyes and stalked off, and Hunk and Mice cheered behind Lance as he basked in his victory.

Never mind that his vision had gone slightly foggy around the edges.

Lance was talking and laughing with Mice and Hunk when the Mentors called for the attention of the Tributes.

Everybody looked to the Mentors, and Lance felt a spark of interest. He wondered what the prize was. He wondered what the penalty was. Above all, he wondered who’d received them.

“Tributes! The Mentors have finished setting up your banquet in the Dining Hall. We’ll escort you there now, please follow,” the Mentor said curtly.

Lance frowned. He’d forgotten about the banquet.

Still slightly hyped on freak juice, he decided to speak up.

“I don’t know about everyone else, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my night at a stuffy banquet with you old people breathing down our necks,” Lance said, addressing the Mentor. The Mentor bristled at Lance’s words.

“Young man, we went through the trouble of setting up a banquet for you-“

“I don’t care,” Lance stated, “I don’t want to go.”

There was a moment of silence (except for the part of Lance’s brain that was screaming at him to step down and shut up) but then the other Tributes started piping up, agreeing with Lance. The Mentor was becoming more and more upset by every comment.

“Enough, enough! The only food being served tonight will be at the banquet! If you don’t come you don’t eat,” the Mentor blustered, and everybody paused.

Lance looked around himself at the Tribute’s faces, and saw the same expression written on them all.

“Then we go!” Lance declared loudly, “For the food!”

“For the food!” The Tributes agreed, and set off for the Dining Hall. The Mentors fumbled for a moment but followed after the Tributes.

Lance guessed that there was definitely something strange in that juice.

—

Lance couldn’t deny it, the smell that engulfed them once they stepped into the Dining Hall was one of mouthwatering, utterly delicious food. His stomach was rumbling and he took an automatic step towards the buffet tables, but the Mentors ushered all the food-driven Tributes to the center of the room.

Lance was positive he wasn’t the only one throwing longing glances at the food.

A different Mentor made her way to the  front of the group, adjusting her collar as she waited for attention she wasn’t going to get.

“Tributes,” she said loudly. It echoes in the Hall. All the Tributes turned to her.

“Before we unleash you to have fun through the night,” then, pausing to consider for a moment, lips pursed, she added, “at least to a reasonable hour, we must address the reward and the penalty from the training exercise. First things first, the penalty. The penalty must be so severe that it would be of inconvenience to you even into the Hunger Games, but not so severe that it would greatly hinder your performance. Thus, the Tribute that came in last in the training exercise may not eat a bite of food until the timer hits zero and the Hunger Games have started.”

Lance breathed a sharp intake of air. _That was insane._ A penalty like that was a _deathwish_ on whoever received it. He couldn’t help but hope that none of his friends had gotten last, it would be a devastating factor in the Games. And in the revolution.

“The penalty falls to Allura, from District 1.”

Lance’s stomach took a nosedive to his toes. Allura? That wasn’t possible. She was too good to have gotten last. And she was a vital part in the plans. She couldn’t take this hit.

Well, technically, yes she could. She was Allura. She was stronger than anybody else Lance knew, except maybe Shiro or his older sister. His sister could always pack a punch.

It suddenly occurred to Lance that Allura was similar to his sister. Lance still remembered vividly how many times his sister had taken the blame, or jumped in front of the siblings to protect them from the next blow.

He remembered then the conversation he and Pidge had with Allura and Shiro at the base of the pathway.

Allura had been planning to take the penalty so that the rest of them wouldn’t.

Lance didn’t know when he had frozen, but he could practically hear the creaking in his joints as he moved his head slightly to look at Shiro. From what he could put together, Shiro probably had the same idea as Allura. Allura probably won out in the end to take the penalty.

Sure enough, Shiro’s face was sour. There was something calculating behind his eyes, and Lance averted his gaze before he could start being intimidated by Shiro.

He knew Shiro was a bighearted man with too much love.

He knew Shiro was more than just a bighearted man with too much love. He didn't want that to change their relationship, though.

Meanwhile, Lance noted that Allura was smiling peacefully, seemingly perfectly fine with not eating any of the tempting food on tables not twenty feet away.

“Second, the reward to the winning Tribute,” the Mentor continued. Lance snapped his attention back to her, still eager to know who had won. And the benefits of winning.

“Regretfully, this will not fall to a single Tribute, because two Tributes took the same pod from the top of the mountain, resulting in a tie.” The Mentor’s voice was bitter.

“The Tributes that will share the reward are Coran, District 4, and Swanky, District 12.”

Lance wanted to laugh as Swanky was grouchily pushed towards the front of the crowd and Coran was escorted to the front, bubbly the whole time. His eyes were alight. Lance always liked that about Coran.

“The reward lasts as long as this evening does. In winning the training exercise, you two have each earned the title of ‘Banquet King’.”

There was silence for a moment before all the Tributes burst out laughing. This sounded like something out of centuries-old bad romance movies. _Banquet Kings?_

Lance laughed even harder when the Mentor gestured to two grand raised chairs, with high backs and interesting cloth draping over them. Were those- _no way._

Lance was cackling and his throat hurt and his gut hurt, but he couldn’t stop laughing now because those were _thrones_.

Swanky strolled over to the throne on the left, sitting in it comfortably and looking out over everybody with a cool expression. Coran hopped, skipped, and jumped his way to the thrones, barely holding in his excitement. When he finally sat down, it was on the edge of his seat, eyes scanning the crowd as he smiled happily.

The Tributes were all facing their ‘Kings’, and for a second nobody said anything. But then,

“Long live the kings!” Came a voice. Lance couldn’t identify who.

Suddenly they were all busting their guts all over again, especially Coran. Swanky even smiled a little bit.

A trickle of music started, though Lance couldn’t see where it was coming from and it was soft enough that it slipped to background noise after a minute. The Mentors were all gathered in a corner of the Hall, lounging on couches and keeping half an eye on the Tributes. Lance assumed that meant it was okay for them to start eating, which he was glad for.

It didn’t take long for all the Tributes (except for Thace, Nyma, and Rolo, who had apparently decided they weren’t hungry and stayed back to train) (and Zarkon and his pack, Lance was pretty sure they were lurking in a dark corner) to raid the display of food. Really, could you blame them?

Lance was standing next to Pidge as he shoveled whatever looked good onto his plate, and he had the honor of hearing what Pidge was rambling under their breath.

“I _think_ this is a raspberry, though I’ve never seen one before. And, wow, are those chips made from actual corn? Wait, is that- _it is, that’s seven layer dip_. Hold it, I’m pretty sure that’s a stuffed duck. Oh, salad with fruit in it? _Is that an onion_?”

Lance grinned at his friend’s antics. There was an endearing edge of wonderment in Pidge’s tone, and when Lance looked at them, they were _beaming_.

Suddenly, a loud sneeze reverberated through the Hall, surprising everyone and causing them to jump. Lance especially, seeing as it came from directly next to him.

Pidge was suddenly sheepish. They glanced at the flower bouquet resting on the table next to them, and Lance could see them blushing from embarrassment. There was complete silence in the Hall except for the soft music.

“Are these orchids?” Pidge asked in a small voice. Matt, from across the table, groaned. “Are you still extremely allergic to orchids?”

Lance wondered why Matt knew what Pidge was allergic to, and what that ‘Still’ meant, but didn’t have much time to dwell on it because Pidge nodded, looking for all the world like an abashed child.

Coran stood up from where he was sitting in his throne, not too far across the room.

“As king of this banquet, I decree that all the orchids in the room must be removed at once!”

As much as Lance agreed with that, it was a bit of a tall order. The entire room was adorned in bunches of orchids, the colors striking and patterns attractive. It added to the scenery, so the Mentors had gone all out with the flowers. Pidge sneezed again, and again, and again. It was rapid fire. Matt looked concerned.

None of the Mentors made any move to get rid of the orchids, all of them wearing a ‘The door is to your left’ expression. Lance was at a loss.

That was when Pitt stepped forward, and he bowed dramatically to Coran and Swanky.

“Yes, your highness,” he said, voice mocking. When he straightened Lance could see a mischievous glint in Pitt’s eye. Lance felt himself grinning already.

Pitt approached the nearest bunch of orchids, digging something out of the pocket of his uniform. Pidge had long since moved away from the bouquet on the table. Lance saw Xan stiffen ever so slightly.

“Pitt, no,” Xan said. Pitt’s smirk only grew.

“Pitt, yes.”

Pitt promptly set the bouquet of orchids on fire.

All the Tributes skittered away from the tables, a few making small noises of alarm. Lance was shocked to say the least, but he felt a laugh building up in his stomach.

It was an understatement to say Lance was a nervous laugher.

The Mentors darted from their positions on the couches to the bouquet of fire. They scrambled to put it out, but none of them really knew how to handle the fire.

Pitt had since moved on to two other bunches of orchids. He was calmly setting fire to every bouquet he could. Lance was, at this point, not the only one laughing.

There was smoke slowly filling the room, flying up through the rafters and spreading out into the faces of coughing Tributes.

It didn’t take very long for the sprinkler system to activate. Water rained down onto the fire (and the food), and Lance was busting up. The smoke couldn’t fill up the entire Hall, so the Tributes were mostly spared and mostly laughing as they slowly got drenched.

The bouquets were smoldering, the sprinkler systems having put out the fire. The Mentors were in disarray. None of this stopped Pitt.

Pitt just kept on systematically (maniacally) setting fire to the orchids.  
The Mentors eventually took his lighter (Lance had no clue as to how Pitt got a lighter, though he suspected Pidge) and took Pitt to the side. He was still grinning as they reprimanded him.

Lance looked around the room. Nobody was talking yet, still in a state of shock. Pidge was smiling, but their nose was running and their face was red and their eyes were watering and Matt was by their side, worrying over them and not-so-subtly standing between them and the charred orchids. Speaking of, most of the flowers had been burned. There were still a few bouquets around the room, but they were pretty much all turned to ash.  
Xan sighed.

“These burned flowers are doing horrors to the mood of the room, and we still need to get the intact ones out, in respect for our king and in concern for our friend. I propose we move them onto the balcony so nobody gets hurt,” Xan said smoothly. His English had improved a lot.

The gathered Tributes all nodded to Xan, who smiled and looked at Coran, jokingly.  
Coran laughed and gave them the go-ahead to start moving the flowers outside, so everybody put down their food and started the transfer.  
By the time they had finished, Pitt had been released from the Mentors and Pidge could go a full two minutes without sneezing. Lance was pretty sure their face was less red.

The Tributes gathered once more at the buffet table, grabbing any food that looked good and shoving it on their plates. Every other night, their meals had been chosen for them, and most of the time it was flavorless soup and strange fruit, or something along those lines. So this was a big change in pace, but certainly a welcome one.

Lance was still smiling as he watched Pidge whip food onto their plate at a breakneck pace, or Xan fight a smile as Pitt revealed that he still had another lighter in his pocket, or Swanky snooze in his throne (he’d fallen asleep like an old man), or Allura laugh at something Shiro had said. She was still the only one without a plate.

Lance was especially smiling as he made his way over to Keith, just to see if he couldn’t bother him.

Maybe this would turn out to be a fun night.

**-Hunk-**

In the beginning, it was a bit of affection. _She’s nice_ , he thought. And that was that.

Then they’d allied. Dex, Matt, Alena, and Shay had joined the rest of them.

He hadn’t had time to blink before the training exercise was announced. Hunk and Shay walked into the room side by side, stood in the room side by side. Fought through the exercise side by side.

She didn’t fight with grim determination, she fought with energy. She fought because she had no other option. She didn’t let the fact that she was being forced into hurting people hurt her.

She didn’t wound anybody if she could help it. She fought calmly, carefully. In an almost caring way. She didn’t want other people to feel pain, even if they were trying to do the opposite to her.

She was talented, and surprisingly quick. She was charming, witty, graceful, beautiful, glowing, _celestial_ even.

Hunk could go on and on about how he made a quick joke in the exercise, a veiled sarcastic comment, and she laughed. It was a beautifully uplifting laugh.

He could go on and on about how she grabbed his hand to yank him out of danger that he (surprisingly) didn’t see coming. About how concerned she was about a scratch on his cheek.

He could go on and on about how she didn’t take long to formulate a plan on how they would get to the top, and how the plan was an entirely reasonable, almost ingenious one.

On and on about how she smiled at him, how she talked softly one moment but passionately the next, how her eyes lit up. Like fire. Like fire. They burned, they glowed, they sparked, they comforted, they warmed. Like fire.

Hunk was drowning in fire, surrounded by fire, engulfed by fire, because _he could not look away from her eyes._

Her eyes crinkled around the edges when she smiled, and closed when she hummed, and could deduce a situation in a second, and lit up when she lost herself in the moment, and warmed when she looked at somebody she cared for, and looked at you and looked at you and looked at you until you felt like she saw nobody but you, but that was fine because you saw nobody but her.

Those eyes that captivated Hunk. Her eyes that captivated Hunk. Shay’s eyes, Shay’s personality. Shay herself captivated Hunk.

They walked to the Dining Hall, and she lit up when they entered the room. She looked around at the walls and the ceiling, smile on her mouth and eyes wide as she took in the decoration. Particularly the fairy lights.

“They look like stars,” Shay breathed happily. Hunk didn’t realize he was smiling.

“They’re supposed to look like fairies,” Hunk remarked. Shay laughed a little, and Hunk couldn’t describe the sound with human words. It was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard in his entire life.

“All the better for granting wishes, although fairies will twist your words, those wicked little things.”

Hunk hardly paid attention while the Mentor was rambling and the Tributes were laughing. He and Shay were too busy in the back of the crowd, making wishes on starry fairies and joking about how they could be interpreted.

“I wish I could fly like a bird,” Shay whispered, tone light.

“You’ll wake up tomorrow morning as a vulture.”

“Even worse, I will wake up with wings instead of arms and a beak instead of a mouth, with a strange craving for worms.”

“I wish I could go back to a time before this one, and live a normal life.”

“You will be running from dinosaurs by sunrise.”

“Or maybe I’ll wake up with a wife and two kids in suburbia.”

“Suburbia?” Shay asked, blinking her eyes and turning away from the ceiling to face Hunk.

“It was a term I read in a book once,” he admitted, “It’s a mix between city and country side, where the middle class live in houses that all look the same with white picket fences.”

“I am surprised you had access to books with such content in them,” Shay said. Hunk shrugged.

“I’m not going to say my family was very pro-Capitol, or that they abided by the law.”

Shay grinned at his comment, eyes flaming and mouth smirking.

“Books are made to be read, not burned,” she said, “and some laws are made to be broken.” Hunk nodded and turned back to the lights.

“I wish I could read all the books of old, the classics and the newbies and the underrated. I wish I could live the adventures that drew people out of suburbia,” Hunk said softly. Shay hummed and turned her gaze back to the fairy lights that draped through the rafters and over the walls.

“I wish I could read them with you,” she responded thoughtfully. Hunk was lost in the lights. The Tributes around them let out another bout of laughter.

“Do you think the stars or the fairies got that wish?” he asked offhandedly. Shay turned again and looked him in the eye. Her fire was warm.

“I wish that our wish was heard by the stars,” she said, not breaking eye contact.

“What did you wish on that time?” He asked. Wishes had to be aimed.

“I wished on the stars,” she said, and turned back to the ceiling smiling.

—

When they all moved to the tables to get food, Hunk was itching to go and see what he could find on the trays. Shay was laughing at his jitters.

“I have no clue what to pick when there are so many choices,” she said, eyes scanning the array of food. Hunk knew. He knew this was his time.

It didn’t take long for him to put together the most amazing plate of food in all of history. He knew that Shay liked fruit, so he was sure to arrange a flower of fruit slices in the corner, melons and grapes and morsels from trees creating an embellishment on the side of the plate.

She was also a bit particular in her taste of meat, he knew she only liked the taste of small animals, birds and the like (they’d had a discussion about this earlier, and Hunk noted every bit of information). So he was careful to get slices of white chicken that he placed around the edge of the plate in a careful circle. He put a thin leaf of basil on top of every chicken slice. Flavoring and presentation.

The starch wasn’t hard, mashed potatoes were pretty much the way to go with anyone. Not to mention they had a flavor that was delicious on its own, but could be easily added to, and a look to them that made them easy to decorate.

Hunk spooned some mashed potatoes onto the center of the plate, carefully rounding out the base of the pile and digging out a pit in the middle. He put vegetable gravy on the mountain, cautious of where the gravy ran. He made a ring of green beans at the base, which tasted good with gravy and the color matching perfectly with the rest of the scheme.

He tucked some tortilla crackers around the rim and stuck them there with some sour cream dip at the tip of each. He made sure each little dollop was perfectly shaped, and that it wasn’t too big. The sour cream dip was probably the hardest part, since he didn’t want it to taste too strongly of old dairy. He ended up finding a type that was light and fluffy and had a subtle fruit taste.

In the end, it was a simple dish, especially compared to the offered foods. But the offered foods were rich and coated with a flurry of flavors, which was good when you wanted to run over to snack on something but not so good when you wanted to put together a dish.

A dish needed to blend together, a gradient of food to coax your tongue from one thing to the next. It needed to swirl in your mouth and settle on your tastebuds. The food on the table shocked and overwhelmed your tastebuds, making them good for standalone pickings but not for a meal.

Hunk presented the plate to Shay, who was surprised for a moment but quickly set down her half-filled plate and took the one Hunk was offering her. Her smile was too big for her face. She looked so happy Hunk felt his breath leave him.

“Did you do this? For me? It looks so good!” Shay exclaimed. Her flames were leaping. Excitement. Happiness. Hunk couldn’t help his smile.

“Yeah… you said you couldn’t choose so I wanted to help,” he said. He felt a bit sheepish if he was being honest. He hadn’t been expecting such an eager and encouraging response. Shay smiled at him again and gestured to the tables in another part of the Hall that were obviously set up so people wouldn’t have to stand and eat. Hunk quickly made himself a plate (mostly pasta with a side of duck and assorted fruits) and followed her to the tables.

The two sat together and talked and talked and talked so much that they barely touched their food (shame, really). They were understandably alarmed when Pitt started setting things on fire, and both helped move all the orchids out to the balcony (they couldn’t let Pidge _suffer_ who do you take them for?).

In the end they both could hardly keep their eyes off each other.

Not that either of them minded.

**-Pidge-**

Once the danger flowers had been extracted from the Dining Hall, Pidge was much more at ease. They were glad they could go back to their food.

They were in awe of the assortment of foods at the table, and couldn’t quite believe it was real. It was delicious. Everything looked delicious. They wanted to eat it all.

Instead, Pidge exercised extreme self control, got a small plate, and found a hidden groove in the wall where they could sit with their laptop, eat, and be unbothered for the rest of the night. They were almost excited.

It didn’t last long once they heard their brother shouting and Tributes applauding and mildly disgruntled Mentors.

They almost talked themself into staying right in their little nook with their food and their laptop. Matt could take care of himself. Nothing too terrible could have happened.

Pidge heard a series of thuds and the ruckus of the Tributes was growing louder and they _couldn’t contain_ their curiosity.

They mourned their decision as they made it, standing up and popping out the bones in their spine and elbows, stretching. They had to fold up quite a bit to get in the hollow in the wall.

Pidge edged around the corners of the room to catch an idea of what was going on. All the Tributes were gathered in one area away from any tables and closer to the thrones.

Pidge sighed. _Thrones_.

They wondered quickly if there was a fight and if their was brother in the fight, but hesitated. If there was a fight then surely the Mentors would break it up, wouldn’t they? But Pidge kept thinking and realized they might not. ' _The kids are just going to die in a few days so why not let them go at it_ '. The Mentors didn’t care.

Pidge was tired, and their brain wouldn’t shut off. For the most part, the opposite happened with people who were tired. For the most part, people would be ecstatic about a high functioning brain. Little did they know it was the most exhausting thing in the world. Pidge couldn’t help but notice a thousand minuscule things that didn’t matter and couldn’t stop thought after thought from piling in and crowding up the space in their head to the breaking point, but of course it didn’t break. Pidge wouldn’t break.

They moved quickly towards the gathering of Tributes, and saw that Matt was in the center of it. Matt was kneeling on the floor, which was covered in strange panels that Pidge couldn’t identify from their angle. Matt was elbow deep in electric wiring, expression focussed as he worked through mechanism after mechanism on the floor. Pidge glanced at the tools and quickly noticed it was the set they’d supplied their brother with a few hours prior. They knew he’d want them.

And hey, it made up for the missed birthdays.

Pidge was marginally surprised when the floor of the entire Dining Hall lit up in a multicolored bravado. Pidge was confused as to how Matt had gotten wooden floors to light up, although they were in the Capitol and it was likely artificial wood. It probably had certain conducting elements.

Either way, the floor they walked on was a technicolor wonder now, and everybody was in awe of Matt having turned it that way. There was shouting. There was applause. The colors in the floor changed rhythmically, switching between every hue of the rainbow with seemingly no pattern. It gave everything a strange underglow, and it definitely changed the atmosphere of the room.

In their sleep deprived state of mind, a beautiful, wonderful idea crept into the back of Pidge’s head. They almost missed it in a flurry of other thoughts, but they managed to grab it and hold on long enough for a plan to formulate.  
Pidge snuck around the edges of the room once more, scanning every nook and cranny until they found the single thing they were looking for. The jackpot. The goldmine. The remote.

More like the channel, if anything Pidge was the remote. Give them credit.  
They spotted it behind a potted plant, hidden there ever so expertly in the shadows. A speaker. A sound system.  
Pidge set up in the shadows next to it, planting their computer and drawing their hardwiring devices out of their pockets.  
They made quick work of the speaker, disassembling it and rewiring it to be able to hook up to their computer. They had to do some digging through quite a few files and sneak through more than one firewall (better be thankful, Matt) before they found, finally, the control center.

If they played their cards right, they were now completely in control of every bit of music for the rest of the night.  
Pidge smirked as they clicked through every song option they had. There was an insane library of music, they had no idea where to start.

They picked some cheesy uppity song that fit what Matt had turned the floor into and turned the volume up tenfold. See how much the Mentors appreciate that.

They had just enough time to craft a small remote that ended up scrappy, but it would work. They tucked their computer in the most hidden place they could, listened as the last trickle of notes drained out of the room, and waited in excited anticipation for their ‘surprise’.

Everybody in the room jumped when loud electronic music started blaring through the speakers (except for Swanky, who just looked annoyed at having been woken up, but at least he was awake). The Mentors were _livid_. They marched around the room (Pidge saw one shake a fist at the ceiling) and tried to find who had hacked the speakers. They tried to override the invader.

Too bad Pidge had prepared for that and set up a password so nobody could get in.

The Tributes wasted little to no time in getting up and about and dancing. Nobody could resist the pull of the music, it was that type of pop that you couldn’t sit still while listening to.

Pidge smiled as they watched Shiro and Allura dance together, Shiro looking uncomfortable in his own skin and Allura throwing her head back as she laughed.  
Pidge watched Dex drag Alena to where all the Tributes were gathering to dance. Both of them felt awkward about it, but Dex had that smile on his face that he wore when he wouldn’t back down and Alena looked like they would try. Like they wanted to try, almost.  
Pidge watched Kevin slowly breakdance, oddly on time with the beat.

Pidge watched as Pitt danced clumsily and Xan rolled his eyes before moving next to him and dancing too.  
Pidge watched as Mice stood in the center of all the Tributes and became a blur of practiced motion, so graceful and fluid that Pidge froze for a moment in surprise. Mice was good.

Pidge watched as Hunk and Shay joined the dancers, but their eyes were on each other and they both wore sickeningly sweet smiles. Pidge almost expected them to ballroom dance, but Hunk and Shay just danced together. _Hunk was good,_ Pidge noted. _Who knew. So was Shay._

Pidge watched as Matt floundered for a moment but slowly gained rhythm in his steps before him and Kevin were breakdancing together (faster than the speed Kevin was going at originally, but still slow enough to be ridiculous).

Pidge watched as Pawn stood to the side and watched happily before Pitt pulled him in. The moment Pitt pulled him towards the area, Pawn’s eyes widened comically. Pidge chuckled.

Pidge watched as Lance pulled Keith towards the other Tributes, but Keith stayed sitting in his chair, looking up at Lance with an expression that clearly said ‘Not happening’. Lance managed to pull Keith to his feet, managed to drag Keith to the Floor, as Pidge noted the dance area had been dubbed by the Tributes. Keith just stood there and huffed as Lance started dancing in circles around him.

Pidge laughed as Coran stood and pulled Swanky off his throne to the Floor. Swanky was disgruntled but, surprisingly, let himself be dragged into dancing with Coran.

Pidge was glad their music switch up was a success and everybody was happy. They were about to crawl back to their hole in the wall when they saw Matt break through the edge of the crowd and make his way to the thrones.

Pidge was instantly suspicious, even with their own brother. What was he going to do?

Matt snuck around to the backside of the thrones and Pidge could only guess what he was doing. Was it something to hurt Coran or Swanky? Who’d want to hurt Coran or Swanky? That didn’t make sense.

Matt emerged from behind the thrones some time later and he looked pretty pleased with himself. Pidge didn’t know how they felt about his actions. They knew that they trusted him, of course they did, but was that real trust or trust that Pidge _wanted_ to feel?

They were confused by their choice to wait and see what would happen.

By the time Matt found himself back on the Floor, the Tributes were going at it in an all out dance battle. Allura and Mice were in the center of the storm, each moving gracefully with hints of aggression towards the other. Pidge wasn’t sure if they were dancing against each other or with each other, but it looked _really good._ Allura and Mice complemented each other in their natural style of dance, and they were both coordinated hurricanes of movement and grace. It was obviously the center of the battle.

Around the two of them, the Tributes were going at it. Pidge arranged it so that the next song that would be played would be a more upbeat one with a definite bass drop. Might as well.

The Mentors were in disarray all around the room, and one tried to stop the dance battle. She was grossly unsuccessful, and probably intimidated.

The Tributes were on two sides of the Floor, facing the other group. They were all in surprising formation, fanning out near the edges and evenly spaced from each other so as to keep the space around each of them wide enough for movement. Pidge was impressed.

There was a strange amount of symmetry as the two groups went at it.

Hunk had an amount of flair that worked well with the rhythms he danced against Lance. He was gentle naturally, but the way he danced was _intimidating_. He moved roughly, but it was still such an elegant bout of movements that Pidge was blown away. Lance was smooth, moving without hesitation and one movement flowed easily to the next. He had a slight grin on his face as he matched Hunk step for step, the two of them battling it out to the left of Allura and Mice.

Matt and Kevin were breakdancing on the right of Allura and Mice, and nobody could tell which side they were on but either way it was beautiful and terrifying.

The entire thing was beautiful and terrifying. Pidge had no words for it. Everybody moved perfectly on beat to the music, limbs falling and raising in coordinated steps, creating a storm of motion that was a sight to behold.

The dance battle reached a crescendo along with the music, everybody increasing their speed and daring in movement to the point that Pidge’s eyes were blurring out. Or maybe that was the lack of sleep.

Nobody slowed down after that, the dance swelled and roiled and it was like looking at the swirling waters of an ocean during a tempest. The music fell out on a final measure of chords and the Tributes struck their poses on the final note, all of them panting and sweating and looking at each other with heated expressions and intense concentrated looks. But then somebody smiled, and somebody started laughing, and they all moved from their positions to collapse on the ground and laugh together in a heap. Pidge smiled as they set the music to play a lighthearted song and moved to collapse in the pile next to Matt and Xan. They felt warm and happy, feeling like they were some part of that with the music they chose.

They chose just the right song for everybody to bring everything they had.

What were the odds.

The Mentors were scrambling around them, but eventually pinned the Tributes as lost causes and sulked back to their couches. The Tributes only laughed and breathed together.

—

Pidge felt themself snap to alertness when they saw Coran and Swanky walk back to their thrones. Pidge remembered that Matt had done something to the thrones. Pidge was sitting with tense muscles, ready to leap at any moment, ready to deal with anything.

The moment Coran and Swanky sat down in the seats of their thrones the backs lit up grandly, beams of light slicing through the air to the rafters, shining different assorted colors. Coran jumped, but he was smiling within a second, and Swanky looked shocked and impressed, and definitely appreciative.

Pidge didn’t know what they were expecting. This was an innocent act. This was an extremely kind act, if anything. Why were they so convinced Matt was going to do something threatening? Pidge was second guessing themself too much. Their mom always said, “You ask too many questions. Rest your mind. You don’t need questions to get answers. Answers always come.”

Of course, they’d always responded, “Good answers come but great answers are ones you have to work for.”

They were definitely second-guessing too much. They blamed the Games and the revolution for stressing them out.  
Meanwhile, the rest of the Tributes were gathered at the feet of the thrones, all swarmed around something. Pidge groaned and pushed themself up to go join the rest.

“-and because we wanted to show our love and respect for our kings,” came a voice. Pidge was regretting walking over.  
“-made you these!”

Pidge was standing with the rest of the Tributes, and watched with barely curbed laughter as the Tributes solemnly passed two cardboard crowns to Coran and Swanky. Coran wore his proudly, and Swanky’s was fashionably crooked on his head. Everybody cheered when the crowns went on. Pidge was definitely laughing now, but cheered along with the rest. The Mentors chose this moment to approach the rowdy group once more. Everybody groaned, the crowd parted as the Mentor kept moving forward.

“We forgot to mention something, so I’m here to inform you that banquet kings have two other plusses along with the name and position. For one thing, they receive the privilege of sleeping in tomorrow morning. Secondly, the Mentors have decided to gift both of them a cup of alcohol. That is all,” the Mentor said, then turned away.

They were all shocked by the second reward, but Pidge caught on pretty quickly to the fact that the Mentor was wearing the ‘You’re dying the day after tomorrow I don’t care anymore’ face.  
Another Mentor with the same expression moved forwards, handed a nondescript glass to both Coran and Swanky, then moved to join the Mentors once more. The Tributes were unmoving, until-

“Chug, chug, chug,” the chant started. Pidge was pretty sure it was Kevin’s voice.

“ _Chug, chug, chug,_ ” Tributes started joining in, rooting for the kings to down the alcohol.

Meanwhile, Pidge watched the Mentors out of the corner of their eye, just to see where they kept the alcohol. Sure enough, once the Mentors checked to make sure all the Tributes were otherwise occupied, then shoved a bottle into a secret chamber built beneath one of the couches and quickly closed the door, which shut seamlessly. Pidge was impressed. Not impressed enough, though, since they’d seen it in the first place.

If their security was this bad, why was Pidge even going into the Games?

Pidge's attention was drawn back as all the Tributes cheered brutishly. When they looked they could see both Coran and Swanky had empty glasses.

—

Pidge was keeping careful track of the music, but everybody had long since stopped dancing and gone back to eating and socializing at random spots around the room. They weren’t complaining. The food was delicious. They were on their third plate.

They were surprised to say the least when Zarkon and his troop emerged from the shadows to walk into the room. They could safely assume it was the fault of the Mentor that was shooting them all dirty looks now- “Go socialize,” and the like.

The only thing the four took off the table was cheese. Pidge wasn’t upset. That cheese tasted like rubber.

The group stood uncomfortably by the buffet tables, and Pidge laughed. The wolves were among the sheep, but they only felt singled out and awkward. That was a new one.

Pidge was close enough to the buffet tables (a.k.a. their only current source of happiness because they got four hours of sleep over the course of two days) that Haggar noticed immediately when they started laughing. She stiffened. Pidge looked at her levelly, because they knew she didn’t have her taser. The only weapon Haggar had was the rubber cheese on her plate. And hey, maybe the plate itself.

 _That was a rather strange coincidence,_ Pidge decided as a plate smashed on the wall next to their face right after they had the thought. They didn’t stop laughing, and had no doubt it was infuriating Haggar. All the more reason to keep going, in their opinion.

They managed to duck under the first glob of rubber cheese that was flung through the air, but the second one hit them dead in the stomach. That would stain.

Pidge wasted no time in picking up a spoonful of mashed potatoes and flinging it in Sendak’s face. Of course, they were aiming for Haggar, but they got _four hours of sleep give them a break._

Sendak made a noise like an enraged bull and snarled like a dog, and Pidge wondered what kind of barn he was raised in to act like that. They wouldn’t be surprised if he got down on all fours and tried to charge somebody with nonexistent horns.

Sendak picked up a handful of banana muffins and catapulted the food back at Pidge, who brought their plate up in effort to block the onslaught. The banana muffins bounced off harmlessly.

“Hey, wait a minute!” Pidge was surprised to hear Mice’s voice shouting at Sendak. Mice hadn’t left the Floor after the dance battle, having been on there all night since. Mice was glaring at Sendak with the force of a thousand suns, and Pidge was convinced they could see a black shroud surrounding Mice. They were glad they weren’t on the other end of that glare.

“No. Wasting. Banana muffins,” Mice said authoritatively. Pidge would laugh if they weren’t scared. Sendak sneered.

“Try and stop me,” he barked. Definitely part dog.

“Don’t do it Sendak,” came Keith’s voice from beside Pidge. They hadn’t noticed Keith and Lance approaching. They blamed it on sleep deprivation.

“Really, Mice can pack a punch.”

Yeah, Keith would know. He’d provoked Mice enough already.

Sendak carefully, deliberately, picked up a banana muffin off the tray and moved it over the floor. Mice was tensing up, their hands becoming fists at their sides.  
Sendak dropped the banana muffin and Mice dove for him, hands up and ready to strangle or punch. Sendak fell back from the strength of Mice’s attack, so they were rolling on the floor with limited swinging fists. This didn’t stop Lance, Keith, and Haxus from moving to the side of the two forms, and in true teenage boy fashion, started chanting.

“ _Fight, fight, fight, fight_!”

Pidge would’ve groaned and facepalmed or joined them (they didn’t know which if they were being honest), but there was another figure by their side. When they turned their head they could see it was Matt, standing there with a grim look on his face.

“Pidge,” he said, not looking at them but instead eyeing Haggar, “is she the reason you have cheese on your torso?”

Pidge paused for a moment, but in a split second, they understood something. This had the opportunity to go to glorious places.

“Unfortunately,” they responded. Matt hesitated, thinking about something. Haggar and Zarkon were vaguely amused by the fight between Mice and Sendak, so the two were distracted. Matt moved suddenly, wasting no time in picking up a gob of applesauce and throwing it, with perfect accuracy, at the back of Haggar’s head. The applesauce splattered when it hit. Matt smirked.

Haggar whipped around, a scowl twisting her face. She quickly stole a handful of frosting off the nearest cake and brought her arm up to throw it, but as she did, Pidge darted behind Matt.

“ _Food fight_!” they yelled as loud as they could. Matt stiffened and looked behind himself at Pidge, and the look on his face was priceless. Although he quickly ducked and pulled Pidge down with him to avoid getting hit by cake.

All the other Tributes were looking at the tables curiously as Matt picked up some macaroni and launched it back at Haggar, who stepped to the side. It ended up hitting Zarkon.

Coran and Swanky shared a look with each other before standing fluidly and making their way down to the tables, walking as regally as they could. It was pretty spot on. Pidge had the urge to shout “Long live the kings” or something. Those guys were convincing.

They reached the table at the same time, heads up and backs straight and looking down their noses at everything. Even Haggar and Zarkon were frozen and looking at them.

Coran cleared his throat.

“King Swanky and I have come to an agreement that-“

At this point Swanky promptly picked up a handful of corn and threw it at Zarkon’s face. Everybody cheered as Zarkon sputtered. Swanky and Coran were grinning evilly now, all pretense of regality gone to the wind.

“ _Food fight_!” Coran shouted, the exact same way Pidge did. Pidge was smirking.  
All the Tributes cheered and ran for the tables, picking up handfuls of food and throwing it at each other. Pidge momentarily lamented the fact that the food was getting wasted, but it didn’t last long. There was a lot of food, it wouldn’t be a problem.

The Mentors were, of course, attempting to put a stop to the madness. Lance and Haxus both splattered them in the face with assorted foods, then high fived before going back to raining a surplus of food down on the Mentors trying to interfere.

It was a beautiful mess.

It eventually turned from all the Tributes throwing food at each other to all the Tributes throwing food at the Mentors (except Mice and Sendak, who were still grappling on the floor).

The Mentors were quickly being covered in food from head to toe, but of course they wouldn’t stand for it.

“Tributes!” Shouted one, “End this now or you all receive Allura’s penalty!”

Yeah, that got them to stop.

The Mentors stood there, glowering, and dripping food from their previously impeccable clothes. All of the Tributes wanted to laugh. None of the Tributes dared to do more than grin.

Mice and Sendak were still fighting each other, although they were upright now and throwing punches and kicks. The Mentors quickly broke them up.

“Who started the food fight?” A Mentor asked. Pidge and Matt shared a look before pointing, simultaneously, to Haggar. Every other Tribute followed their lead.

The Mentors grumbled some more and discussed things with each other before all of them moved to Zarkon, Haggar, Haxus, and Sendak (the fight had been broken up by Mentors). The Mentors spoke lowly with them, before turning back to the rest of the Tributes.

“We are escorting them out,” a Mentor said. “Please, _please_ , do not do anything while we’re gone. If we come back to anything but flawless behavior, there will be consequences.”

Pidge couldn’t believe what they were hearing. Of course, they had to when the entire league of Mentors frog-marched Zarkon and his bunch out of the Hall.  
The doors opened with a groan and closed grandly with a resounding crack. All the Tributes stood frozen, staring at the doors.

Suddenly, they all grouped together and started discussing exactly what they should do while there was no supervision. The possibilities were endless, really.

Pidge knew without a doubt they had the best possible idea for shenanigans. They sidled out of the gathering and made their way to the Mentor’s couches in the corner.

According to their mental map, the alcohol was under the biggest one.  
Pidge found the hairline crack in the side of the couch and managed to get the door open (straight, thin pieces of metal are convenient things to have in your pocket). The sight that met them was a beautiful one.

Bottles upon bottles upon _bottles_ of alcohol, sitting there, waiting to be drunk.

Pidge grabbed the nearest bottle (vodka, it looked like) and shut the door of the couch cabinet before waltzing back to the Tributes, who were arguing between ideas. Pidge fought their way into the middle of the group.

They said nothing as they silently held up the bottle of vodka, and snickered as the other Tributes slowly went silent.

“We believe,” Coran said, “that Pidge has proposed the best idea. Who agrees?”

There was a chorus of agreement so Pidge popped the cap and handed the bottle to Coran.

They had no clue what was going to happen next, but they were excited.

—

Everybody got drunk.

That was a lie, not everybody. Some people were smart enough to avoid the alcohol that was being passed around (Pidge provided a steady stream of it). Pidge had tried drinking some, but Matt put a quick stop to that. Pidge only handed their drink to Matt once he told them not to have any. They noticed him drink the entire thing.

So Matt was drunk. So was everybody else you’d expect to be drunk. Shiro and Allura were smart enough not to drink any alcohol, as well as Pawn. Alena didn’t have anything either. Pidge themself was tipsy, along with Hunk, Shay, Xan, and Dex.

Everybody _else_ was drunk, which quickly turned the banquet to havoc.  
“What happens when the Mentors come back and find us like this?” Somebody asked. Pidge had no idea _who_ , but somebody asked.

“What if we just make sure they can’t come back?” Somebody responded. Pidge liked the sound of that idea.

“Yeah, we kill ‘em.”

“No, Pitt, we kill nobody.”

Pidge looked around the room in a daze. The Tributes were talking about how to keep the Mentors away, although none of the ideas were all that great. Everybody was arguing. Pidge just let it happen, tuned them out to background noise as they messed with the music. 

Suddenly, when they looked back up, everybody was around the buffet tables, picking them up and moving them towards the door. Pidge was baffled, and distraught.

They couldn’t believe everybody else was trying to steal the food all for themselves.

After everything Pidge had done for them, and they’re just going to take the food and run, and leave Pidge there behind a potted plant with a remote controller.

Pidge thought they were friends.

Pidge wanted more cookies.

Pidge, strangely enough, started crying. They mindlessly put on sad violin music. They couldn’t properly see the computer screen through their tears.

They staggered to their feet and looked around the room, lost for a moment. They quickly located the couches and started walking over to them, slowly.  
Pidge was going to throw all the alcohol out the window. Nobody ever gets alcohol ever again, and good riddance after they stole Pidge’s food.

They were stopped by Matt, who looked concerned.

“Pidge, are you okay? Why are you crying? Who made you cry? I’ll fight them, Pidge, tell me what’s going on.”  
Pidge started crying more.

“I’m really tired and stressed and my back hurts because I was sitting behind a potted plant and I just want cookies but everyone stole the cookies so now I can’t have cookies and I only slept four hours in the past two days and I can’t even see the computer screen because I’m crying because everybody just stole the food and left and I think you’re the only person in the world that cares about me.”

Matt was quiet for a moment.

“Would cookies make it better?”

Pidge nodded sadly.

Matt turned and directed them to the front of the room, towards the doors.  
To Pidge’s complete surprise, everybody was standing there high fiving each other. And the food was there! They’d only moved the food in front of the doors so the Mentors wouldn’t get in. And the food was there! Pidge was so happy they ran up to Shiro and hugged him. Shiro was startled to say the least.

“Um, Pidge?”

“Yes Shiro?”

“Are you okay?”

“Now that everyone is here I am. I even missed _Lance_ , Shiro, what’s _wrong_ with me?”

Shiro patted Pidge’s head slowly.

“Nothing’s wrong with you Pidge.”

“Thanks Shiro.”

At that point Pidge let go of Shiro and turned to find where the cookies went.

Cookies fixed everything.

**-Xan-**

Xan was tipsy, but he knew he held his alcohol well after a certain event that he had to attend to get Pitt some information, but Xan would rather not recall _those_ memories.

So, Xan was careful to control his consumption, because, well, he didn’t want to end up like Pitt.

Pitt was currently standing in the middle of an open area with all the Tributes gathered around him. You could hear systematic “Ooo”s and “Ahh”s coming from the Tributes.

Pitt had revealed to Xan that Pidge had supplied him with a deck of cards. Knowing Pitt, he had a few tricks up his sleeve. Literally. Card tricks.

Xan suggested jokingly that he become the jester of the king’s court. Pitt’s eyes lit up and he darted to the thrones and started talked excitedly. Xan had a feeling he’d done something. Soon enough, Pitt was standing in a throng of Tributes, deftly showing them his hundreds of card tricks. They were amazed.

Of course they were amazed, they were drunk.

Xan moved to the edge of the crowd and smiled when he saw Pitt making a fool of himself. It was a fond smile, he was glad Pitt was having fun.

Pitt’s card tricks were so obvious at some points that Xan couldn’t stop laughing. Pitt made eye contact with him and winked, and Xan cracked up again. Those tricks would only work on drunk people.  
Xan scanned the crowd of awed Tributes. The more drunk they were, the more befuddled they were. Their faces were hilarious. Xan thought that the really drunk people had to have the funniest expressions.

He realized, as he was looking, that Kevin wasn’t there.

Xan had taken special note of the fact that Kevin was drinking a lot, and it kind of scared him. He was now officially alarmed, since Kevin was nowhere to be found.

He searched around the rest of the room, checking every chair and under every table, but from what he could see Kevin had just disappeared. Up and gone.  
Up and gone. What was that thing Pitt used to say? Something like ‘Don’t just scan 360, because that’s what they expect you to do and they’ll climb someplace out of your radar’.

Xan looked up. ‘Scan your sphere’, that’s what Pitt said.

Pitt was, of course, right. When Xan looked, he could barely make out a figure resting in the rafters. So either Kevin had crawled into the ceiling or they were being spied on and were about to die.

When the figure hiccuped, Xan could assume it wasn’t a master spy.

The figure scuttled out of sight and Xan gave a quick thought to what chaos Kevin could cause from the rafters, but quickly distracted himself with Pitt’s card tricks again.

He was tipsy, and Pitt was magical.  
It worked if he turned off the logical, functioning part of his brain.

But then, that part of his brain automatically snapped back on when all the power in the Dining Hall shut off. There were a few screams, but the room was pitch black and nobody could see what was happening. Xan started backing up, moving to put his back to the wall and hoping his eyes would adjust. A few curses fell from his mouth.

“Don’t worry guys, don’t worry, I got this,” Pitt said. Suddenly, there was a small flame of light. Xan was unsurprised. Pitt always had a lighter on hand, most of the time multiple. Xan was concerned though. He wasn’t sure he trusted Drunk Pitt with a lighter.

“Sorry everyone!” Came a voice from the ceiling, and Xan quickly pinned it as Kevin’s. So Kevin shut out the power.  
Everybody else, on the other hand, was not expecting a voice to come from the ceiling.

There was more screaming, but the worst part was that Pitt jumped. He flinched so hard that the lighter flew out of his hands, thrown behind him.

Xan wished he could say he was surprised when the curtains caught on fire, he really did.

The other Tributes screamed again, albeit more terrified this time. It seemed mysterious voices weren’t as scary as quickly spreading fire.

At least they could see through the dark now.

Shiro, Allura, Pawn, and Xan managed to put out the fire, since Pawn knew where the fire extinguishers were and Xan was used to Pitt’s crap, and Shiro and Allura were Shiro and Allura.

All the Tributes were calming down at this point, because to their drunken brains it probably seemed like the end of the world. Xan rolled his eyes and huffed, but, sadly, it was a fond huff.

He thought drunk people were hysterical and he was amused by the fact that Pitt just set the Capitol’s curtains on fire. But they were still left with the problem of the power being out.

“I have candles,” Pidge said, and Xan was relieved.

—

Xan had no clue as to how Pidge had enough candles that the entire Dining Hall was fully lit again, but he decided he wasn’t going to question the small tipsy child who was currently drowning in chips and salsa.

The candlelight admittedly did something to the mood, made the room more dreamlike. He could appreciate that.

Lighting and arranging the candles was an ordeal, and Pitt managed to set another curtain on fire, but now everything was fully lit again and in full swing (the music was apparently powered off a generator, so that was still going, and Matt was working on hooking up the floor to the generator too but he was drunk and Xan was concerned).

He was also vaguely concerned by the fact that there were balloons.

Pidge and Pitt had talked suspiciously in the corner for a few minutes, then they both disappeared and Xan had no idea where they went. They came back ten minutes later with deflated balloons and smirking faces.

They high fived while Xan facepalmed.

“Xan, buddy, pal, we gotta get these balloons full of air,” Pitt said. He was definitely drunk.

“All of them? With our lungs?” Xan asked incredulously. Pitt laughed and nodded.

“The three of us will have it done in no time,” Pitt said. Xan was about to refuse when Pitt used his puppy eyes.

The thing about Pitt’s puppy eyes was that they didn’t work on Xan. They never had. They were just _really funny_ to look at.

Xan busted up laughing, to the point he was doubled over, and Pitt looked affronted.

“You wound me,” he said. Xan kept laughing.

“What if I said please?” Pitt tried. Xan was wiping tears from his eyes.

Xan managed to stop guffawing long enough to look Pitt in the eye. Pitt was obviously trying not to laugh.

“There is literally nothing you could pay me with but I’ll do it anyway,” Xan said. Pitt’s face lit up with a smile and he threw his arms around Xan and hugged him.

“Ah, what’re friends for?” Pitt said happily as he let go of Xan. Xan grinned at him.

“Profit.”

With that Xan turned and made his way to the collection of deflated multicolor balloons, plopped down on the floor next to it, and started slowly but surely giving them his own precious air.

Balloons are thieves if you put it that way.

50 balloons later Xan was lightheaded and tired and there was still a surfeit of balloons left.

50 more balloons later Xan was contemplating not only life, but why he did these things and why in the _world_ he thought it was a good idea to drink alcohol then blow up balloons.

50 more balloons later he was probably going to throw up, but it was fine because Pitt was next to him and he could just throw up on Pitt. Pitt deserved it.

27.5 balloons later and he was wondering why Pidge hadn’t formerly announced that they could get an air pump.

After Pidge’s air pump was well and working, Xan felt like he was taking a breath of fresh air. He kicked the balloons out across the floor of the Dining Hall to the feet of the other Tributes. Every Tribute lit up when they saw the balloons, and promptly started throwing and messing with them.

There was the obligatory pop and the obligatory scream, then everything was smooth sailing.

Since they weren’t helium balloons, Xan was confident Pitt couldn’t set them on fire, which he was grateful for.

—

At some point Swanky and Coran had been coaxed onto the Floor, and they were managing to keep their crowns on fairly well even while dancing.

Xan was proud of the crowns. He’d helped make them.

He might or might not have had more to drink after everything with the balloons (Pidge smirked evilly when he asked for more alcohol, and Xan couldn’t tell if he loved the kid or feared them), and now everything was a different experience. Hazy almost. But also more vivid?

At some point a couples dancing song came on (Xan was now convinced Pidge was evil) and everybody paired up, awkwardly.

Shay and Hunk were dancing together and being disgustingly cute, Shiro and Allura much the same although they looked otherworldly. Keith was dancing stiffly with Lance, and Xan wanted to laugh at them. Mice was with Pitt, oddly enough. Kevin was on the floor again, dancing surprisingly gracefully with Alena. Xan was surprised Alena was even dancing. Matt was dancing with Dex, and the height difference was strangely comical.

Coran was dancing with Swanky, and that was the kicker. The punchline, if you will.  
It was regal, if you wanted to call it that. They were ballroom dancing in the center of the Floor, crowns askew and feet kicking balloons and smiling crookedly at each other in the candlelight. It was hysterical, it was grossly romantic, but you know what? They were all drunk and had the weight of the world on their shoulders, to the point that they didn’t want to move but kept moving anyway. Everything was going downhill fast, they were on a train with no brakes. Nobody knew what the next few days would result in. Nobody knew.

But they could have this night, forever. Till the end of time, there was this moment where everything was more than okay. Everything was _fantastic_.  
So yeah, Swanky and Coran could ballroom dance amongst the balloons, and Xan could laugh at them.

The song drew to a close and everybody either sprung apart like touching each other was burning them, or moved away slowly and bowed in an exaggerated fashion to one another.

Coran and Swanky stayed together, and Xan hated the idea that sprung into his head.

“ _Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss,_ ” he started chanting. Everybody noticeably perked up, and they all joined in the chant with wicked smiles, looking towards Coran and Swanky in the middle of the Floor.

Grins crept across Coran and Swanky’s faces as they looked at each other, moved in slowly, and Coran promptly violently sneezed, head jerking and hitting Swanky’s temple. Swanky jerked away, and Coran was apologizing through his laughter.

Xan’s gut hurt from laughing so much.  
Sad airhorn music played through the sound system, and everybody started laughing more. Xan couldn’t breathe, there were tears in his eyes, he had a cramp.

“Long live the kings!” He shouted, and everybody cheered their agreement through their laughter.

Pidge saved the moment by playing some more upbeat dancing music, and everybody quickly got absorbed in another dance session. Why not, it was fun.

Xan somehow ended up near Pitt again, and he found he was unsurprised. Xan didn’t like the look on Pitt’s face though.

“Hey Xan!” Pitt shouted over the music. Xan rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Pitt?” He asked, at a reasonable volume. Pitt grinned, but lowered his voice.

“Your dancing is _fang_ tastic,” Pitt said. Oh no.

“I _venomoust_ know how you do it.” Pitt was smirking now. Oh no, no, no, no.  
Pitt was into the stage of his drunkenness where he was making puns.

“You have _poise, son._ ” Pitt barked a laugh. “Get it? Poison?”

Xan did get it. He regretted getting it.  
“Why must you do these things?” He asked Pitt.

“You’re _dragon_ me too hard, man,” Pitt responded. He looked mischievously evil at this point. Or maybe it was just the lighting.

“No, I really don’t think I am,” Xan said.

“Look, I don’t want to _scale_ that mountain right now,” Pitt said back smoothly. Xan was too drunk for this.  
Xan was the type that if he didn’t want to be in a situation, he’d fix the situation, either by removing himself or the offending object. He, at this point, decided the best thing he could do was remove Pitt from the scene.

So Xan wasted no time in sweeping Pitt off his feet and handing him off to the next Tribute.

“Crowd surfer!” somebody shouted, and suddenly there was a ruckus as everybody moved to transport Pitt over their heads. Xan was just glad it was away from him.

That was, until Pitt was handed off to him and it wasn’t like he was going to _drop Pitt._

Pitt looked Xan in the eye.

“Xan, I have to say, you look _boa_ tiful in this lighting.”

Xan dropped Pitt on the floor. He popped a balloon he landed on. He was laughing. Xan was not laughing.

“Xan please,” Pitt said as Xan turned on his heel and walked away. “Please, I made a mis _snake_ , come back.” Pitt could barely get the words out through his laughter.

Xan left him on the floor and asked Pidge for another drink.

Pidge handed him a Dr. Pepper and said, “This is an intervention.”

Pidge then heard, distantly from the Floor, Pitt saying “That’s clawsome!”

They poured some liquor into Xan’s Dr. Pepper without question.

**-Kevin-**

Kevin was, doubtlessly, really _really_ drunk.

He was drunk enough to whisper “Get some,” to Swanky after he almost-kissed Coran.

He was drunk enough to jump whenever he heard a balloon pop.

He was drunk enough to dance the Macarena to oldies music.

He was drunk enough that when an inebriated Pidge and Matt announced they were siblings, he didn’t blink an eye.

He was drunk enough to wave a candle dramatically in the air when an introspective song came on.

He was drunk enough to scream when he saw a spider.

He was drunk enough to sit on Shiro’s shoulders for a while.

He was drunk enough to, somehow, get in the rafters.

He wasn’t questioning it.

Right now, though, he was on the ground. He was watching Keith and McClain. Keith was curled up against Lance, and Lance was rubbing his back comfortingly.

“I just… nobody wants to fight me…” Keith said despairingly. Lance nodded.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ll fight you later,” he said. Keith sighed.

“No, you’re a bad fighter. It won’t work,” he said sadly. Lance looked insulted.

“I am a perfectly capable fighter, excuse you,” Lance said. Keith shook his head, sitting up and looking at Lance now.

“Your form is sloppy, your reactions are slow, your hits are weak, your movement is uncoordinated,” Keith was counting off on his fingers.

“-and it’s all fine because if anyone tries to fight you, _I’ll_ fight them and beat them and we’ll all be okay,” Keith finished. Lance was looking disgruntled, but he smiled at the last part.

“Promise?” He asked.

“Promise,” Keith responded happily.

“Then that means I just have to get people riled up so they fight me, then you can fight them!” Lance said. Keith perked up.

“That… could actually work. You just have to be your usual, annoying self.”

Lance was, of course, upset by that.

Kevin noted that the two of them were strangely adorable when drunk.

He was drunk enough not to care that Keith was drunk.

He gagged as Keith and Lance looked at each other lovingly, because that was gross, and stood to move away from his hidden spying position. He knew exactly how he would intervene.

Kevin walked quickly to the buffet tables that the Tributes had placed in front of the door as a barricade. He wondered when the Mentors would come back and try to get in. It had been quite some time since they’d left.

Kevin grabbed a cup and dumped some of the nunvill into it. He knew from experience that everyone, _everyone_ , hated nunvill. It brought a whole other meaning to disgusting. This information had been very useful in many different situations.

Kevin plopped down right next to Keith and Lance, who were still being disgustingly cute. They both jumped when Kevin appeared out of nowhere, though.

“Lance,” he said, smiling warmly, “I picked this up but quickly realized I’ve drunk so much alcohol that I doubt I’ll ever be thirsty again. You want it?” Lance eyed the cup in Kevin’s hands warily.

“Thanks, Kevin, you’re too nice,” Lance said. “Literally. What did you put in that drink?”

Keith rolled his eyes and took the drink from Kevin. “Here, I’ll make sure it isn’t poisoned,” he said.

Kevin reached out, wanting to save Keith from the monstrosity that was nunvill, but he was too late. Keith had already taken a sip.

It was all over. Kevin waited for Keith to drop dead.

Keith only raised his eyebrows and took another sip, looking at Kevin with a ‘What’s wrong?’ look.

Kevin was in a state of disbelief.

“It’s a good drink,” Keith said, handing it over to Lance. Lance looked between Keith and Kevin, freezing for a moment at Kevin’s expression.

“I… think I’m fine. You can have it,” Lance said with a sense of finality. Keith shrugged and drank some more. Kevin choked back a gag just thinking of doing something even remotely close to that. Lance stared openly at Kevin.

Maybe Kevin should be less expressive.

“Well, I have somewhere to go,” Kevin said, standing and smoothing out his clothes to busy his hands. He started walking away from the two.

“If I hear anything I don’t like, you best watch your back, McClain,” Kevin said over his shoulder.

When he was far enough away from the two lovebirds, he sighed.

He needed to find a way into the rafters.

**-Pidge-**

Pidge didn’t know who noticed they weren’t on the Floor, and hadn’t been all night, but they were bitter.

They were quickly dragged out to the Floor by literally every other Tribute in the room, and couldn’t believe the position they were in. They just started doing the sprinkler. Everybody laughed at them and their awkward movements. Pidge only scoffed. Little did the other Tributes know they could blow them all out of the water if they weren’t tipsy and running on four hours of sleep.

They were doing the pop-and-lock by the time Matt decided he needed to step in.

“You okay Pidge? You look… out of your element. Is there anything I can do for you?” Pidge wanted to laugh, but an idea sprung into their head.

Man, they were a mastermind while sleep deprived.

“Actually, yeah,” they said to Matt. Matt brightened up and Pidge pulled him down to whisper in his ear. They had a plan of action. Matt nodded seriously, and sniggered once Pidge finished.

“Up to it?” Pidge asked. Matt was smiling roguishly as he agreed and darted off to fulfill his side.

Pidge had to stall for him, maybe roughly two songs.

They danced the funky chicken with renewed vigor.

—

When Matt appeared in Pidge’s line of sight looking slightly disgruntled but definitely pleased with himself, Pidge knew the deed was done.

Matt gave Pidge a thumbs up and Pidge smirked and chose the next song. They danced the robot till the current song ended.

The next song started up and Pidge made eye contact with Mice as they sprinklered again. Mice must’ve seen something in their expression, because they nodded.

Mice was onboard.

Pidge danced the worm to catch everybody’s attention, and pushed themself off the floor as the time neared. Everybody was watching them, they were impersonating a robot. Then it happened.

The beat dropped.

Matt rigged a fan to blow all the candles out, as well as finally hooking up the lights on the floor to the generator. Even better, he managed some pinpoint laser lights of varying colors. Nice.

Pidge pulled energy from what alcohol they had consumed and _danced_. Mice danced with them.

Together, Pidge was pretty sure they looked as good as Allura and Mice had earlier, maybe even better.

From the expressions they saw in blurred passing, everybody was shocked still.

Good.

Pidge was a flurry of movement, a turn and a shift in weight and move your arm _here_ and your leg _there_ and flip your center of balance and fall back and move your shoulders with your body with your arms, fluidly.

It was simple, really.

Pidge and Mice got really into it together, to the point that they didn’t even need to look at each other or think consciously about their next move.

At a certain point, they just _moved_.

It felt nice, especially now that the rest of the Tributes were cheering them on.  
Pidge saw Mice move out of the corner of their eye, saw their action and knew what they had to do.

Mice laced their fingers together in front of their knees, and looked to Pidge. It was the step-up.

Pidge took two practiced steps and planted their foot in Mice’s hand, and managed to keep their balance as Mice lifted them up in the air. They jumped out of Mice’s grip and did a double backflip with what airspace they had. They landed hard on the balls of their feet and kept dancing with Mice.

The other Tributes were in awe, Pidge could sense it. They smirked through their exertion.

Near the end of the song, Mice did a similar thing. They looked at Pidge, and Pidge looked at them, and they were at an agreement. They knew what they would do for the final move.

When last measures of the song played, Pidge turned to Mice and vice versa. Mice made the gesture, and Pidge ran at them and jumped. Mice caught them by the waist, as was planned. What Pidge _wasn’t_ expecting was for Mice to throw them upwards with a strong toss.

Pidge _flew_ to the ceiling, and found themself among the rafters. They were in a state of shock. They didn’t know what to do.

As they were falling back to the floor, something grabbed their hand. Adrenaline shot through them.

Pidge recognized that it was a human hand keeping them aloft and pulling them into the rafters. They crouched on a strong beam and realized they were sitting across from a concealed Kevin.

“I need your help.”

**\---**

“Where’d Pidge go?”

Everybody was staring at the ceiling where Pidge disappeared. None of the Tributes had expected Mice to _launch_ Pidge to the heavens. Nobody expected Pidge to just… _evaporate_.

“Pidge is gone,” somebody whispered. Nobody could believe that Pidge was gone. What were they going to do without Pidge! They needed Pidge! Pidge was adorable! And Pidge was the only one who knew where the alcohol was! And Pidge was adorable!

“Matt!” Lance said, turning to the other Tribute. “Where’d your sibling go?” Lance sounded concerned. Surely Matt knew the answer.

Matt gaped at the ceiling where Pidge had vanished, and the look on his face was one of open horror. It was dramatic.  
He started crying, the tears falling steadily down his face.

“They flew away,” he whispered, almost in wonder.

“They’re dead,” Pitt said, and Matt started sobbing.

**\---**

Pidge was in position as they heard scrabbling through the rafters. Kevin’s plan was ingenious, really. They just needed to ignore the faint wailing from the Hall and focus.

Kevin had apparently figured out that the Mentors would try to get in through the rafters instead of the doors, and came up with the perfect way to scare them off. Pidge was all for it.

The scrabbling got closer to where Pidge was, and they prepared themself. It was their time.

When they could see the faint outline of the Mentor’s figures in the rafters in front of them, they readjusted their glasses so the lenses reflected the window light. It didn’t take long for the Mentors to notice the glowing eyes crouching in front of them in the rafters. From somewhere above and to the left of them, Kevin hissed viciously. Pidge smirked as evilly as they could, and hoped the Mentors could see.

The Mentors screamed.

**\---**

“Guys did the ceiling just scream?”

“Pitt, you’re drunk, go home.”

**\---**

The Mentors shot through the rafters as gracefully as a pack of elephants, but they wasted no time in getting out of there as fast as they could.

Kevin climbed down to Pidge’s beam once the Mentors were gone, and he and Pidge high fived. Peace was restored in the kingdom.

Kevin saluted Pidge as Pidge jumped from their beam into a controlled fall towards the Floor. They managed quite a few flips with the airspace they had, and rolled as they landed.

That one would hurt in the morning.

This would all hurt in the morning.

But it was night now, so Pidge just gracefully pushed themself to their feet and kept dancing with Mice.

After the song ended, Matt hugged them and just didn’t stop hugging them. They were mostly fine with it.

**-Lance-**

Lance was alone by the window because Keith went to go get more nunvill (which Lance still didn’t trust by the way).

He was gazing out the window sleepily and thinking thoughts (who invented cups? How did the first person who found steel mine it? Do people naturally hold their breath underwater? Do blankets capture heat and give it to you? How would it be possible for dragons to breathe fire, anatomically?) when he heard tapping from outside the window.

He glanced down, and should’ve been shocked by what he saw but hey, he was drunk.

The sight he was met with was Haxus hanging by his fingertips on the window ledge. Lance opened the window and leaned out.

“Hey,” he said, smiling. “What’s the password?”

Haxus rolled his eyes, even from his position.

“Toenail,” he guessed through gritted teeth. Lance chuckled.

“Nope, but I’ll let you in anyway,” he said, grabbing one of Haxus’ hands and pulled him through the window, before shutting it quickly.

Lance looked around conspiratorially before darting across the room to hide behind a potted plant. Haxus followed in a similar fashion.

“What do you need?” Lance asked quietly.

“I have a question, bro,” Haxus responded. Lance shushed him violently.

“Keep it _down_ , nobody can know we’re bros. What’s your question?” He kept glancing over the side of the plant, worried expression on his face. This is where Haxus paused, slightly embarrassed.

“ _Hypothetically_ , if somebody were to ask you out, how would you want them to do it?” Haxus asked slowly. Lance froze. He turned to face Haxus, moving his head ever so slowly until he was looking out of the corner of his eye.

“I… didn’t know you felt that way about me,” Lance said carefully. Haxus choked on the air he was breathing.

“Bro, dude, no, _no_ , I was- _no_. I was only curious,” Haxus responded hurriedly. Lance faced him a bit more.

“I only date people who are comfortable with their sexuality bro,” he said, frowning.

“ _Please Lance that’s not what I meant_ ,” Haxus said desperately. Lance was looking at him fully now, but his face lightened up.

“Dude did you seriously just want to know the answer?” Lance asked, looking amused.

“ _Yes_ ,” Haxus said, exasperated and relieved he wasn’t being accused.

“Bro, the answer is Keith,” Lance told him, smiling gently. Lance was vaguely confused how that could even be a question.

“Right, uh, thanks bro,” Haxus said.

Haxus quickly got up and walked back to the window, then wasted no time in jumping out of it. Lance counted ten seconds before going over to shut the window again, and he was careful to lock it.

Then Lance turned and went to join the rest of the Tributes, who looked to be relighting Pidge’s candles (but moderately, so the floor lights and laser lights would still have a cool in-the-dark effect).

**-Haxus-**

Haxus sighed as he made his way to the headquarters the four of them had set up.

Zarkon refused to go back to his rooms that night, and if Zarkon wasn’t doing something, none of them were doing that something. 

Haxus plopped down on the grass next to Sendak and gave him the bottle of alcohol he’d stolen while he was up there (he’d asked Coran for a sip and when Coran handed him the bottle Haxus ran). Zarkon was looking at him expectantly.

“He said the answer was Keith,” Haxus told him. Zarkon visibly tensed.

“What must I do have to do to get him to love me?” Zarkon asked passionately. Haxus sighed.

“The first step would be getting you back into the banquet,” he said. He doubted Zarkon could get in through the window, like he had, or that Zarkon could get in without causing a stir.

Zarkon looked up at the banquet, staring through the window dramatically.

“I must,” he said, clenching his fist, “for true love.”

**-Kevin-**

Kevin dropped out of the rafters. He saw Keith talking animatedly to Lance and wanted to know what was going on between the two.

“-and the coloration is completely off! Imagine how much better this room would look if they used a warm red for the drapes instead of green and yellow!” Keith was saying. Lance was nodding distantly.

“And the tablecloths don’t even match the theme! The floral pattern is completely out of place!” Lance nodded again and yawned and stretched, and as he stretched he put his arm around Keith’s shoulder. The movement didn’t give Keith pause.

Kevin was smiling wickedly. He couldn’t believe Keith was ranting about the decor to Lance.

He also couldn’t believe McClain had just pulled such a cheesy move on _his_ brother.

Kevin set forward with a purpose, thinking about the thousands of ways he could break the two apart, when he was interrupted by the sound of screaming Tributes. He rolled his eyes and turned around to see a pillar of fire stemming from the buffet tables.

Everybody was screaming except Pitt, who was smiling lazily, and Xan, who just had a hand hiding his face as he sighed in a long-suffering manner. Pawn rushed in with a fire extinguisher, and the food was quickly covered in foam-fluff, but that was fine because it was already burnt to a crisp.

There was still a surplus of food left, everything was fine.

Matt turned away from the scene once the fire was out, but jumped and screamed at something. Kevin turned to see what it was, ready to fight, but nothing was there.

He glanced back to Matt, who was shaking, then back at the wall. Nothing.  
Kevin was, excusably, confused. What was Matt afraid of now that the fire was gone?

He dropped his defensive position and turned around to Matt, who was still scared.

“Matt, you okay there buddy?” Kevin asked. Matt nodded, slowly, never taking his eyes off the wall.

“There was a giant black figure but you scared it away,” he said. Kevin paused for a moment, but conclusions were clicking in his brain.

“Matt, did you just scream at your own shadow?” Kevin asked.

“Probably,” Matt said, expression unchanging. Kevin would be exasperated if he hadn’t done the exact same thing earlier.

—

Kevin was in the rafters again, though he didn’t exactly know why. His current idea was that he wanted to interfere between Lance and Keith, and he was devising a maniacal plan to get the two to stop gazing at each other lovingly in the candlelight.

One of the nearby beams creaked, and Kevin was instantly on high-alert. He perked up and glanced around in the darkness. It was in these moments he wished he was a radioactive human hybrid that could see in the dark, at least.

He saw a figure crawling through the rafters a few beams over. It was too bulky to be anybody from the banquet, as far as he could remember. He ran a mental scan through his list of Tributes, and he froze.

There were only two Tributes that could possibly be.

Thace or Zarkon.

Kevin didn’t know why he wasn’t moving, surely he should be climbing towards the Tribute to see what they were up to. Kevin found that he just couldn’t move.  
Suddenly he lost his balance and had to scramble to readjust and keep himself from falling. His beam creaked.

The figure paused and looked to Kevin, and they made eye contact.

It was Zarkon.

Kevin, strangely enough, found himself calming down. He held steady eye contact with Zarkon as Zarkon moved slowly through the rafters, towards the lowest point. He probably used whatever informants he had to find a way back into the banquet.

Neither of them looked away until Zarkon was out of sight.

—

Pidge, the little devil, played another couples dancing song. Kevin was distraught as he watched his brother dance with McClain. Keith was fumbling, and McClain laughed fondly and went slow so Keith could catch up. _They were too adorable._

Kevin knew that he needed to cut in.  
He dropped from the ceiling and moved stealthily to where Lance and Keith were dancing together. He waited for the appropriate moment with the music and skillfully stepped between Keith and McClain, right with the turn, right with the spin, right were they let go of each other.

Kevin found himself face to face with McClain.

Kevin found himself _dancing_ with McClain.

 _That’s not how that was supposed to go_ , his brain supplied. He was supposed to be dancing with _Keith_. Kevin wasn’t computing. His brain couldn’t keep up, it froze as soon as it realized he was dancing with Lance.

“Kevin, what a surprise,” McClain said. Kevin sputtered. _Abort, abort!_

He heard muttering and fumbling and a small ruckus from behind him, but he could hardly turn around and see what was happening. That would mean he would have to stop dancing with Lance in the middle of the song, which was improper etiquette on so many levels.

Suddenly a bulky figure stepped in besides them and pulled the same maneuver Kevin had, the same movement and everything.

Kevin found himself ballroom dancing with Zarkon.

His brain froze up even more, if possible.  
Zarkon glowered, looking over Kevin’s shoulder.

“This has not gone according to plan,” Zarkon muttered, “You are not Lance.”  
Kevin was too flustered to be able to respond.

The song ended, Kevin and Zarkon bowed to each other formally, and Kevin darted to hide under a table for a while.

**-Lance-**

Keith looked really, really pretty lit up by candlelight and multicolor flooring. Lance didn’t know if he could stop smiling.

Coran had seen the two of them, and he rambled to Lance about love. Apparently Coran had quite the past. The conversation ended with Coran crying and drinking heavily from a bottle while Lance patted his back consolingly.

Keith went off to go find Pidge, so Lance was sitting in a corner humming to himself and thinking about the fact that he couldn’t wait to tell his sisters stories from this banquet and laugh together.

The bench he was sitting on sunk with weight next to him, and Lance was instantly happy that Keith was back. He turned to Keith with a smile on his face and mouth open, ready to talk about anything in the world as long as he was talking with Keith.

The face he was met with was not Keith.  
He was so disappointed from the lack of Keith that he started crying. It was then that he noticed who he was looking at.  
Zarkon was staring back at him.

Lance flinched back, he probably jumped a few inches in the air. He hit the far side of the bench, limbs scattered everywhere for balance.

“How’d you get back into the banquet?” He asked hurriedly. Zarkon just stared at him intently.

“True love.”

“Oh, uh, that’s… _nice_. Who’re you in love with, Zarkon?” Lance said, chuckling and stuttering and looking anywhere but Zarkon.

Where were _literally any_ of his friends when he needed them?

Zarkon scooted closer to Lance on the bench, and when Lance looked around there was no escape. He was cornered.

“The real question here is who are _you_ in love with?” Zarkon asked. Lance cried more. He missed Keith. And he missed Pidge. And he missed Hunk but Hunk was being happy with Shay, so he didn’t want Hunk to come and save him because that would interrupt the two of them having the best night of their lives. But he expected better of Pidge, Pidge was supposed to be all-knowing and Pidge was cruel but they weren’t _this_ cruel.

Lance sat there and cried and waited for rescue. He perked up when he heard footsteps, knowing that he would be saved. He felt hope flare in his chest.

He wasn’t expecting Allura, but Allura came. She marched up and pulled Zarkon to his feet by his collar, then punched him in the face so hard he flew back roughly twenty feet.

While Zarkon was bleeding on the floor, Lance hugged Allura.

“You saved my life. You’re my knight in shining armor,” he whispered into her sleeve. She just fondly patted his head.

“Anything for you, princess,” she said consolingly. 

Once he was finished crying, Allura threw Zarkon over her shoulder and carried him to the feet of the thrones. She dropped him in a heap on the floor.

All the Tributes gathered around the thrones, grave expressions on their faces.

Swanky said something that only a few people could understand, but he sounded angry.

“Sire, we’ve no idea how he got back in,” Pitt said somberly. Swanky nodded, sneering down at Zarkon like Zarkon was the scum of the earth. Then he turned to Coran, who had a strangely serious look on his face.

Despite having a half-full bottle of alcohol in his hand, Coran still managed to look terrifyingly kingly.

Coran and Swanky had a quiet conversation before both standing as one and looking out at the crowd.

“Dear subjects,” Coran said, addressing them, “we have come upon the decision to exile Zarkon. Do you agree?” There was a mass amount of cheering from the gathered Tributes, so Allura promptly picked up Zarkon once more, walked over to the window, and dropped him outside so he landed on the overhang a few feet below.

Everybody applauded as she locked the window.

—

Lance didn’t know how, but Zarkon was back and he was crying again and he was scared Allura wouldn’t save him this time.

He wasn’t expecting Zarkon to go onto the Floor.

Lance watched in horror as Zarkon started dancing to the music… _sensually_.

**-Kevin-**

Kevin was standing right behind McClain as he looked at the floor. Kevin refused to admit he was keeping watch on McClain to make sure Zarkon wouldn’t hurt him. He was just… carrying out his king’s orders. Yeah. So he needed to ensure Zarkon got exiled again.

But he kind of wanted to see this.

The music picked up and Zarkon rolled his hips, toying with the edge of his shirt. Kevin didn’t know how he was keeping himself from laughing.

The shirt came off and Kevin wasn’t laughing anymore. Zarkon was ripped. Kevin moved a little so he could see around McClain.

Zarkon kept dancing, and Kevin felt awkward about his position.

Kevin sidled around the edges of the room. All the Tributes were gathered now, watching as Zarkon did a strip tease on the Floor. Kevin moved through the shadows until he was behind Zarkon.  
Shame. He had a nice butt too.

Suddenly, a teasing voice was whispering in his right ear.

“Your crush is showing,” Pitt said, obviously smug.

Kevin swung his fist up jarringly, trying to pull a behind-the-shoulder punch to the face. However, he swung his left fist, missing Pitt completely. Pitt fell to the floor from laughing so hard, clutching his gut. Kevin huffed. Zarkon was already being re-exiled by the court, so Kevin guessed the show was over.

\--

Allura approached him, later, frowning.  
“Kevin, I thought I told you not to let Zarkon in through the rafters again after the first time,” she said. Kevin turned to her, suddenly looking fearful.

“…he didn’t get in through the rafters,” Kevin said. Allura’s eyes widened and she looked around herself nervously.

Kevin and Allura shared a final look before sweeping the room to make sure every window in the room was locked.

**-Dex-**

After Zarkon was banished and there was another Pitt-fire, everything calmed down for a while as people drank, ate, and danced. It was calming, it was nice.

Dex was moderately concerned about the amount of alcohol Coran was drinking.

The only other sane people at the banquet, so far as Dex could see, were Alena, Pawn, Xan, Allura and Shiro. He was positive Xan was drunk, but it turned out he could hold his alcohol well.

Either way, he was surrounded by cataclysmic conditions and didn’t know how to deal with it without more alcohol, but he also didn’t want more alcohol, so he just drank the lightest stuff Pidge could give him and tried not to make any bad choices.

The Tributes were rioting because Pitt had managed to break the punch dispenser and nobody could have punch, but suddenly everybody wanted punch. Pawn was trying to keep everybody from destroying the Hall, and Shiro was trying to calm everybody down. It was a generally amusing situation, but Dex was a little cranky, because he also sporadically wanted punch.

Dex joined the uproarious Tributes, shouting about how the loss of punch was a clear injustice. Pitt was off to the side of the crowd, head bowed shamefully. Shiro was trying his best to get the screaming to die down.

Allura appeared with a disgruntled Pidge, who was rubbing at their eyes and noticeably cranky. Dex overheard her speak to Shiro, “I had to wake them up but I found them and they said they can probably fix it.”

Was Pidge going to fix the punch dispenser? But then everyone would have to stop shouting, and shouting was fun.

But they’d get punch.

Pidge moved sluggishly as they disassembled the drink dispenser and looked at the parts, then started putting them back together. Dex saw Matt go up to them.

“Hey, you look dead on your feet. Is there anything I can do?” Matt asked.

That’s when Dex had a brilliant idea.

Dex ran over to the Mentor’s corner, and just as he thought, there was a coffee dispenser. He picked up the biggest empty bottle he could find (they were littered all over the floor with the balloons) and jammed it in the maker. He pressed a few buttons, added a bit of water to the place it said, and steaming hot coffee fell from the dispenser into the bottle.

Dex had to repeat the process twice to fill the bottle, and by the end he was fidgety and impatient.

When the bottle was finally full, Dex yanked it out of the coffee maker and jogged back to where the Tributes were gathered. He pushed his way through the small, angry crowd to where Pidge crouching at the front, surrounded by punch dispenser parts.

Dex said nothing as he offered Pidge the bottle of coffee. Pidge looked at the bottle, then back at Dex. The stench of coffee was unmistakable in the small space.

Pidge grabbed the bottle and downed a quarter of it.

Dex stepped back with a self satisfied smile and let Pidge do their work. They were looking a bit more awake already, and Dex was glad he had helped with the revival of the punch.

It didn’t take long for Pidge and Matt to have set up a fountain that had glowing lights and a continuous stream of punch. Everybody cheered and went to grab cups so they could have their fill of punch, except Coran. Coran just topped off his bottle of alcohol with punch.

They moved the fountain to an open area of the room, so it was still next to the food but not in anybody’s way. They blew out the candles around the fountain so it was a glowy fountain of light and punch in the semi-darkness. It looked good. Everyone applauded. Pidge and Matt bowed.

Dex collected some punch for himself and moved out to the edges of the room as everybody scattered to do their own thing. Dex only sipped his drink and watched them as they smiled and laughed and danced drunkenly.

He noticed another Tribute next to him, although he couldn’t tell who it was from the angle. A quick sweep of the room told him Xan was the only one who was nowhere else, so Dex could place Xan as the one behind him.

Xan leaned on the edge of the table that Dex was resting against. The two watched the banquet in companionable silence. But Xan decided to speak up.

“So, how drunk are you?” Xan asked as casually as one would ask what the weather was. Dex almost spit out his precious punch, but swallowed it carefully.

“Tipsy. You?” Dex answered. In reality, he had no clue how drunk he was. He still had rational thought, but his feelings came in strange bouts? 20 minutes ago or so, he was so angry he was ready to flip a table. Now he was content and… tired? Tired would be a good word for it.

Xan laughed.

“No clue,” Xan responded, taking another sip of whatever drink was in the cup he was holding. Dex chuckled.

“Seriously, I’ve no idea what was in those drinks Pidge gave me,” Xan said, smiling. Dex laughed a bit more.

They watched in silence as Pitt and Kevin started square-dancing on the Floor. Xan turned to Dex as the rest of the Tributes caught on to the new dancing.

“I don’t want to get caught up in the chaos this is bound to turn into, so I’m headed out to the balcony. Want to come with?” Xan asked carefully. Dex, by nature, didn’t trust him, but his inhibitions were destroyed by the alcohol so he agreed and followed Xan.

One might say it was nice on the balcony, although the charred bouquets of orchids were still outside. The flowers shook and crumbled with the slight breeze.

Xan nudged a bouquet out of the way and sat down on one of the wooden benches on the balcony. He shifted until he was settled and looked out over the city.

Dex closed the balcony door behind him, and was suddenly hit by a strong gust of chilled wind. He gritted his teeth and rubbed his arms for warmth as he walked across the balcony to Xan.

“Have I ever properly expressed my complete and utter _loathing_ for the cold? Because I don't think I have. I don't think it's possible for me _to_ have. There are no words in the English language that can capture how much I despise the cold,” Dex muttered as he sat down with a huff next to Xan.

“I can help you with that,” Xan said. He was looking up at the sky tiredly. Dex felt his anger flush out a bit as the wind died down, and mirrored Xan, decidedly counting stars. Xan continued.

“There's a term in my native language that means 'I feel this too strongly for words'. It's not the type of thing to be used liberally, like really or very. I haven't heard used it in years, not since…” Xan let the sentence drag off.

It felt like they were in an entirely different place than they were mere seconds ago. Different feelings, different atmosphere. Everything suddenly felt raw and vulnerable. Effect of the stars and the alcohol and the burnt out flowers, probably.

“…I haven't heard it used in years,” Xan finished weakly.

Dex pondered this.

"I guess that would work then," he said, breathing out and watching the cloud of his breath dance through the night air.

"Yeah," Xan murmured, still looking at the sky. His breath danced through the chill with Dex's, rising and twirling until they were both out of sight, evaporated.

All they were left to look at was stars.

"What were the other times you've heard it used?" Dex asked quietly. Neither of them looked at each other. Xan didn't answer for a minute.

"The earliest time I can remember was an argument between my parents. By the time it was over I was convinced one of them was going to stab the other with a kitchen knife. That was when I started hanging out with Pitt more. The second and only other time I remember it being used was in a fight between me and Pitt. I don't remember what the fight was about. I don't remember who said it. It was just suddenly out in the air, and… it was used before 'Hate'. We just stood in silence and looked at each other. Then we ran away. We made up, of course we did. But still." Xan finished off with another sigh.

"Yeah," Dex said, "but still."

They never looked away from the stars.

The stench of charred orchid filled the silence.

**-Pidge-**

They distantly saw Dex and Xan walk out a window. Or maybe it was glass doors onto the balcony. They weren’t sure they knew anymore.

They made note of Pawn fleeing out the same window after the square dancing started.

A few songs into the square dancing, Alena decided to clock out. They said they were tired and needed to head back to their room for the night. This was a bit of a problem, seeing as the door was firmly barricaded. Kevin was the one who found a solution.

“I can get you out through the rafters. I’ve got you, fam,” he said, leading Alena away. Alena leveled him with a glare.

“Don’t call me fam,” they said, but they followed him.

In the time Kevin was out with Alena, the only bad thing that happened was a few more balloons popped. The Tributes also managed to convince Swanky and Coran to join them all on the Floor. Pidge was only amazed Coran could walk in a straight line.

Once Kevin returned, now without Alena, Pidge decided to make an announcement. They had a _plan_.

“Everybody,” they said to the people gathered on the Floor, “this one’s an oldie but a goodie. It’s got easy call out instructions, and the only thing you need to do is follow my lead. We clear?”

Everybody cheered as Pidge smiled. They were excited for this one. The opening notes rung clear through the speakers as they played the song, and Pidge got in position.

' _Boom clap, boom de clap de clap,  
Boom boom clap, boom de clap de clap_ ,’

The music started playing and Pidge was doing the simple moves along with it.

The Tributes followed easily. Pidge couldn’t stop smiling.

It all crescendoed to the chorus.

‘ _Pop it, lock it, polka dot it_  
Country fivin', hip hop hip  
Put your arms in the sky, move side to side  
Jump to the left, stick it, glide

 _Zig zag 'cross the floor_  
Shuffle in diagonal  
When the drum hits hands on your hips  
One-footed one eighty twist

 _And then a zig zag, step, slide_  
Lean in left, clap three times  
_Shake it out, head to toe_  
Throw it all together, that's how we roll

 _Do the hoedown_  
Throwdown!  
Do the hoedown  
Throwdown!  
Do the hoedown  
Throwdown!  
Throw it all together, that's how we roll’

The Tributes were laughing too at this point, but nobody stopped doing the accompanying moves with Pidge. How could they stop?

They went through the next verse and the chorus again, through the bridge and to the final measures.

‘ - _Boom dap clap, be-boom de clap clap clap_  
Boom dap clap, be-boom de clap clap  
Boom de clap, boom de clap de clap  
Throw it all together, that's how we roll.’

The song came to a close and Pidge could barely breathe because they were laughing so much, and from exertion. They put every ounce of themself into that.

Pidge bowed at the front, and the Tributes took their own bows before they all collapsed together on the floor, out of breath, red in the face, and laughing.

Pidge couldn’t be happier.

—

Pidge let a few more couples dancing songs play, because everybody was obviously done with square dancing. The hoedown throwdown couldn’t be topped.

They were surprised when Lance approached them with a song request.

He was embarrassed about it, he refused to look Pidge in the eye when he asked.

Pidge checked the library, and the song was there.

Pidge considered asking Lance for some sort of payment but decided that they could go without being a conniving mastermind, just for tonight.

**-Lance-**

His heart was in his throat and it was beating at a hundred miles per minute.

He couldn’t believe what he was doing.

The first trickling notes fell through the speakers, so much clearer than they were on the old record player. Somehow Lance missed the static.

He stood in front of Keith, feeling himself calm down even at the opening sequence. He knew, from having done this a thousand times with his sisters, this was where he bowed and offered a hand. The dancing would have to start soon to be on time.

Keith was flustered, but took Lance’s hand on the same beat his sisters always had. Lance pulled Keith to the Floor, adjusting his grip. His hands fell into place naturally.

His legs moved almost by themselves when the first lyrics came through the speakers. He gripped Keith’s hand tighter and together they moved slowly around the Floor. There was something in Lance's chest, a feeling so strong he couldn’t name.

His feet moved to the exact same rhythm they always had. His arms shifted and his balance rocked at the same notes, the same measures.

If he closed his eyes, he could imagine it was old wood boards beneath his feet, and Pops was snoring in the old armchair, and the smell of dinner wafted through from the kitchen while they all danced with each other grandly in the living room. Always to the same song.

Always the first song on their favorite record on that old record player.

Lance opened his eyes and swung Keith around on the very same notes he always had. The very same measure he had practiced to and practiced to and practiced to. He couldn’t get that swing right for months.

He couldn’t help but smile from even hearing the melody. That song just made him so _unbearably_ happy. Every time he heard it.

Keith was smiling back at him, a small smile that Lance hadn’t seen before. It took his breath away.

Lance laughed and did a quick misstep from his usual routine, he put a spin where there wasn’t one, but fell soothly back into the rhythm. He knew this song like he knew his brain. This song, always the first song they played on the old record player.

When they were children and looking at stars.

When they were younger and couldn’t sleep.

When they were older and dreaming of places faraway, ballroom dancing with the loves of their lives.

When they were older and needed solace.

When they were older and needed each other.

When they were older, they just danced and danced and danced to the same old songs, track 1 to track 2 to track 3 until dinner was cold and they were breathing hard and smiling too big for their faces.

He laughed again as he pulled off a dip that left Keith wide-eyed. He and his sisters were always dreamers, thinking of places that weren’t there. Grand balls with orchids and fountains and displays of food and dancing and dancing and dancing.

Here he was, dancing and dancing and dancing.

Keith took the lead for a measure and spun Lance around, and Lance laughed again. He felt so happy and free. He felt like he could do anything and go anywhere, but he only wanted to be right here, dancing to his song with Keith.

Lance knew that the end of the song was coming, he knew it by nature. He slowed down the dance, found himself drawing closer to Keith. They spun slowly around the same circle now, barely moving as the last few measures trickled out softly.

Lance could faintly hear the last note, almost from far away. He heard it as he remembered it, crackling and ever so slightly off key, softly playing out as he panted. He smelled dinner, but it was a memory of a smell. A ghost of a song.

He leaned forward, like he always had with his sisters, and pecked Keith on the cheek.

He let go of Keith, took a step back, and bowed deeply. As he bowed, he slowly started blushing. In his mind, he could almost hear the next song on the record start, but in reality Pidge played another sweeping song and it snapped Lance out of it.

His phantoms flew away to be remembered at another time, and he was completely back in the present.

The present where he’d just kissed Keith on the cheek.

The present where he’d just danced with Keith.

_The present where he’d just kissed Keith on the cheek._

Lance jerked himself out of the bow and stood straight, gaping at Keith, who was staring right back. Both of them were blushing profusely.

Lance turned on his heel and walked off the floor, hoping to find a private spot to combust.

And hey, if he set anything on fire, he could just blame Pitt.

—

Lance had convinced himself he was okay and that he hadn’t just messed up and that he was finally calm enough to be able to breathe around Keith again when he distantly heard shouting.

“What do you _mean_ McClain kissed him on the cheek? Surely I heard you wrong, because I pity the man who would be so stupid as to do such a thing!”

Lance could hear Kevin pop his knuckles from all the way across the Hall, and decided maybe he should hide for a while longer.

**-Shiro-**

Shiro didn’t know how in the world he got to the point that the cared so deeply for all the other children, but he did.

It was such a gradual thing that he didn’t notice until it was too late. Suddenly, they were all drunk and crying and everything was on fire and somehow… Shiro still didn’t regret his decision?

The only thing he regretted was the fact that he hadn’t managed to take the penalty.

He got a plan together with Pidge on that little debacle, though, so right now all he had to deal with was a drunk Matt trying to do handstands.

As much as he should have been exasperated, he was only happy. He felt like he had new energy, new blood pulsing through his veins.

The place that was cold and empty before he got Reaped was patched by Allura, and filled by the rest of the Tributes. Suddenly he had a warm feeling in his chest and he couldn’t remember the last time he was smiling so much. So he was only affectionate to a lightheaded Matt and a Kevin on a headhunt.

Shiro was consoling a freaked out Pidge (gravity is still working, Matt was not getting abducted by aliens upside down, it’s okay) when he heard screaming from the direction of the Floor.

There was no situation in which that was a good thing, so Shiro made his way over. Mice was collapsed in a heap on the ground.

“Mice is dead!” Pitt wailed, “They… they were so young,” he whispered, wiping tears from his eyes and looking over Mice’s small body.

All the gathered Tributes were standing around Mice, heads bowed and eyes closed. Shiro couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

He made his way through the crowd and checked Mice’s pulse. Their heart was beating steady.

Shiro picked up Mice and carried them away from the mourning Tributes. Mice had only passed out from physical exertion and needed a break on the couch, and probably some punch.

Shiro left Mice on the couch with a plate of cookies and a cup of juice for when they woke up, then went to moderate the Tributes that were now trying to stand on each other’s shoulders so they could be tall enough to reach… something.

Shiro found he still couldn’t stop smiling.

—

Shiro was cleaning up from an intense food fight that Lance started, at least trying to get all the food off the floor, when he heard more ruckus behind him.

He dumped the wasted food into the trash and turned around just in time to see Pitt pull the table cloth off a table.

Shiro closed his eyes and waited for the bang and crash of thousand of dishes and foods falling to the floor… but there was nothing but gentle applause.

Shiro opened his eyes to see Pitt holding the tablecloth proudly and all the utensils still on the table. Shiro felt like he could breathe again.

**-Pitt-**

He did not expect that to go so well. He was actually pretty sure everything would fall to the floor.

When everything did not, in fact, fall to the floor, he was proud of himself.

“Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all night,” Pitt said, bowing dramatically.

Pitt had no idea what he was going to do with the tablecloth now that it was off the table. He contemplated just putting it back on the table, but over the food, when he got a much, much better idea.

Pitt fumbled, but he strung the tablecloth over his shoulders and tied it off. When he took a few steps, it flared out around him. He now had an effective cape.

Happiness shot through him and he looked around the room to find Xan so he could show him, but he was nowhere to be found. Pitt shrugged off his trickle of worry and started walking to the Floor because that was always exciting, but he got distracted by his cape. It just caught the air so perfectly as he walked and bloomed around him, it probably made him look kingly.

Kingly?

Pitt puffed out his chest and walked forward a bit more, proudly declaring,

“I’m the _king_ of this banquet!” A few Tributes laughed, but they were definitely impressed by his cape.

Swanky looked at him and cocked an eyebrow, and Pitt couldn’t tell if the crown added to or lessened the effect of his glare.

“No, you’re not,” Swanky said. Pitt laughed nervously.

“Right, sorry Swanky. I’m the _prince_ ,” he said, and Swanky rolled his eyes but it seemed he would let Pitt pass as a prince. Pitt smiled.

“Sire, as an apology, would you like me to get you anything? I notice you haven’t eaten all night,” Pitt offered. Swanky sighed.

“Is there anything to drink beside spiked fountain punch and alcohol?” He asked. Pitt shrugged.

“I can check, if you want,” he said. He really was slightly concerned by the fact that Swanky hadn’t drunk or eaten anything all night, but he didn’t want to admit it.

“That would be nice,” Swanky said. Pitt nodded and jogged back to the buffet tables, and he couldn't help but laugh at the way his cape flew around him.

The only drink he could find at the tables was orange juice, but Pit wasn’t complaining. It was something.

Pitt quickly got a cup and brought it back to Swanky, careful not to spill any. Swanky thanked him mindlessly and took a sip, but spat out the juice the moment it touched his lips.

“Is this orange juice?” Swanky asked, coughing. Pitt nodded. Swanky gagged and stuck his tongue out.

“That stuff is disgusting,” he said. Pitt couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.

“I think I saw apple juice back there,” Pitt tried. He might be able to pull off apple juice if he got Pidge to help him. Swanky shook his head.

“Apple juice is gross too. None of that,” he said, and sighed again. “Thanks anyway.”

Pitt was at a loss, but that sounded a lot like a dismissal. So Pitt stood and went to find Kevin. Kevin was probably up to something interesting.

**-Coran-**

Allura pulled him aside at one point, and it made Coran lose his balance a little as she dragged him.

He’d been happily conversing with his friends (or, subjects) by the Floor when Allura invaded and said she needed to talk to him.

Or, wanted to talk to him. ‘Needed’ constituted that it would be imperative to their survival, and nobody would be dumb enough to have that serious a conversation with Coran while he was as drunk as he was.

Coran was well aware of the fact that he was very drunk. He was very, very, very drunk. That didn’t stop him from drinking more.

Coran was standing and twirling his mustache in a secluded corner while Allura was looking very intently for something. Coran couldn’t tell what.

Coran suddenly found himself halfway down the hallway, looking at a painting. He didn’t know when he walked here, but it was a nice painting. He was admiring the brushstrokes and colors (and it seemed like it was moving) when he felt a hand on his arm. He turned to see Allura. He naturally started smiling at the sight of his friend, and stopped twirling his mustache to put his hand on her arm too.

“Is this a secret handshake or something?” He asked. Coran was very confused. Allura looked exasperated as she pulled him back to the corner they were in before. Coran followed without complaint.

“I checked, I think we’re safe from the eyes and the ears of the Capitol here,” Allura said. Coran twirled his mustache again.

“I wasn’t aware the Capitol _had_ eyes and ears. I thought it was a place. Although I know of somewhere similar, called the Balmera-“ he stated, already recalling the memory. Allura cut him off, but it was fine, since she seemed like she was desperate to say something.

“Coran, I have to tell you something and it is very, very important, so I need you to listen carefully and take this seriously,” she said. Coran nodded happily, because he knew that was what would make _her_ happy, and she looked like she needed to be happy right then.

Coran realized he had a bottle of alcohol in his hand and made an exclamation of joy before taking a swig.

Allura looked him in the eye, and for a second Coran sobered, just a little. He remembered those eyes… blue, like jewels… _something_ …

Nah. He took another swig of alcohol. He didn’t know if it was vodka or bourbon or both but it was good.

“Coran,” Allura said slowly, “I’m from District 13 too.”

Coran thought about this. It wasn’t possible. He barely remembered District 13. He didn’t know how he and Mice survived the bombs. He didn’t remember his childhood. _In fact,_ he thought happily, _Allura was probably joking._

He was glad Allura was joking. Joking makes people happy.

Coran laughed, smiling broadly at her joke.

“No you’re not,” he said, and drank some more alcohol. Allura looked pained.

“Yes, I am. We grew up together,” she said, stressing the words. Coran laughed more.

“Man, you’re really piling it on. Although joking about these things is a little messed up, you’re getting there. Good job Allura,” Coran said, patting her on the arm and drinking more alcohol. He didn’t need to be reminded of his past.

“Coran,” Allura said, drawing his attention.

“Allura,” he responded readily. She looked distraught.

“Do you remember _anything_?” She asked. Coran laughed. It was his turn to joke. He always liked joking.

“I remember looking at the bottom of my bottle and thinking, ‘This’ll be my last conscious thought.’ And that was about three hours ago!” Coran said, and chuckled. At that he turned around, humming, and went back to the banquet. He wanted to talk to people who weren’t reminding him of everything he didn’t want to think about.

On his walk back to the kingdom, he wondered absently about the operation of sand and whether or not everyone perceived taste differently and whether or not he would fly if he breathed in enough helium and literally _anything_ but his conversation with Allura.

He wondered and he drank until he forgot the conversation altogether.

**-Lance-**

Lance had just finished picking up the potted plant that he’d walked backwards into and shattered when a thud came from the doors at the front of the Hall.  
All the Tributes stiffened as they heard another thud. It sounded almost like splitting wood.

That could only mean somebody was trying to break the doors down so they could get into the Dining Hall, but the reason why was anybody’s guess.

All the Tributes started panicking when a chipped hole started appearing in the door. Lance could barely hear the Mentors on the other side, shouting to each other. “It’s working!” and the like.

The Tributes swarmed to the doors, and a few picked up fistfuls of food and threw them at the doors, but the Mentors would not be deterred by casserole. They just kept coming.

The Tributes were officially starting to panic when Coran stepped forward and put his hands out in a placating gesture.

“Don’t worry, dear subjects, I know exactly how to handle this, I saw it in a movie once,” Coran said. Everybody instantly calmed down and watched as Coran took a deep drink from the bottle in his hand.

Coran put the bottle down, but his cheeks were puffed out and his mouth was closed. Lance figured Coran had roughly half a bottle of alcohol in his mouth.

Coran turned and spat a steady stream of alcohol at the door, but the real twist was the fact that he held a lighter up to the projectile.

In no time at all, Coran was violently breathing fire at the Mentors. There was screaming from behind the door and the sound of people falling and running.

Coran had blown all the alcohol out of his mouth, and everybody was applauding until he turned around to reveal that his mustache was on fire. Everybody was instantly panicked and Coran fumbled.

He looked around, seemingly for water to put out the fire, but the only thing he could find was the alcohol in his hand.

He poured the alcohol on his face witch hope that it would douse the fire, but it only burned brighter. Coran screamed.

“I’ve got this, guys!” Pitt yelled as he hefted up the punch fountain Matt and Pidge had built. He aimed the dispenser at Coran, and hoped the punch would put the fire out.

Somebody had apparently spiked the punch, because the fire only spread.

Everybody was screaming now.

Coran was running around the room, but his clothes were catching on fire and he was leaving trails of flames in his wake.

Pitt’s cape caught on fire. The curtains caught on fire again. A few of the plants caught on fire.

Shiro found the fire extinguisher.

—

Coran had half his mustache singed off, but otherwise everything was okay. Pidge played more couples dancing songs, and Lance wanted to go dance on the Floor with Keith some more. Keith was refusing.

“Please,” Lance begged for what felt like the hundredth time. Keith shook his head again.

“Why not?” Lance whined. He knew he was acting like a child, but so was Keith. Keith huffed and crossed his arms and slumped down further in his seat.

“I don’t wanna,” Keith said.

“You don’t wanna dance or you don’t wanna dance in front of people?” Lance asked. Keith murmured something into his arm. Lance sighed and asked him to repeat what he said.

“The second one,” Keith said, loud enough Lance could hear. Lance smiled at the admission.

“We can just dance in the corner, silly,” he said, already standing. Keith looked up at him, and he held a hand out. Keith rolled his eyes (he was smiling a little, Lance got him) and took Lance’s hand. Lance almost cheered in happiness.

The two walked hand in hand to a place in the shadows, isolated and hidden from prying eyes. Lance and Keith slowly started dancing, Keith taking the lead with perfectly coordinated steps. Lance was just happy Keith was dancing with him. Lance was just happy about everything.

“Do you know this song very well?” He asked Keith. Keith shook his head, visibly relaxing his stance from the sound of Lance’s voice.

“I just pick things up fast. Dancing isn’t too hard,” Keith responded, and Lance snorted. Keith did a dip and Lance lost sight of everything for a moment, and in his disoriented state he zeroed in on Keith’s face. As Keith pulled him back up he found his feet again, but couldn’t get them to move.

“What’s wrong Lance?” Keith asked, “Are you speechless after experiencing my skill?” Lance spluttered. He was flustered and Keith was smiling wickedly and confident was a good look on Keith, okay? Could you blame him?

Lance was sure he was red in the face, now, but he scrambled to catch up with the dance, trying to find the beat. His feet kicked a few stray balloons. Keith was laughing softly and slowly guiding Lance through the steps of the dance.

The music slowed and so did their dancing; once more they were naturally drawing closer to each other with each step.

 _One-two-three, one-two-three_. Closer.

 _One-two-three, one-two-three._ Closer.

The song ended with a few steady measures of violin, and Lance and Keith were chest to chest, feet lost in a sea of balloons, gazing at each other happily. At this point, they were really just swaying to the music. Keith’s eyes were reflecting the candlelight.

Lance felt his breath leave him.

Everything felt dreamlike and hazy as he stared at Keith, and Keith seemed to glow in the candlelight. Keith was smiling at him with real happiness, and Lance had a warm bubble in his chest. Lance felt like he was buzzing.

He couldn’t help but smile as he realized that with the classical music, the balloons, and the candles it was definitely like one of the old dreams he always dreamt with his sisters. An old child’s tale of true love.

Lance realized all too suddenly how close their faces were and that they were sharing breath and the places where Keith was touching him were _burning_ and the warm feeling in his chest turned hot.

Time froze. Lance's mind was racing. 

He leaned forward, slightly, and Keith’s breath hitched. Keith didn’t stop him.

Lance closed his eyes and took a breath to steady himself before he took the plunge, inching his head forward and kissing Keith lightly.

He opened his eyes when Keith made a surprised sound, and instantly jumped back and away from Keith.

He missed.

He kissed Keith on the nose.

_He missed._

Keith was very red in the face and wasn’t looking Lance in the eye, and Lance knew there was only one thing he could do to fix the situation.

He turned and ran to hide behind Pidge and reevaluate his life.

—

Pidge supplied him with a hiding spot once Kevin went on the prowl, muttering under his breath. Lance was glad Pidge was his friend.

After Kevin had calmed down a bit, Lance came out and ranted. Pidge listened patiently as Lance told them everything that happened. They nodded along absently and fiddled with something, although Lance had no clue what it was.

When he got to the end of his spiel, Pidge looked up at him.

“You just have to be more like them,” Pidge said, gesturing to Coran and Swanky. Coran and Swanky were making out on a couch.

Lance let out a long whistle. “Long live the kings,” he said. Pidge snorted and went back to what they were working on. Lance’s curiosity got the better of him.

“What are you building?” He asked, scooting closer for a better look. Pidge swatted his hands away when he reached out, and smiled mischievously.

“You’ll see,” they said, and went back to hitting the thing repeatedly with a wrench.

—

When Pidge sat up and sighed and popped their joints out, Lance assumed they were done.

“Is it finished?” He asked. Pidge nodded and stood up, rolling out their shoulders before pulling their invention to set it up between the two king’s thrones. Coran and Swanky were still making out on a couch, so they didn’t mind.

Lance waited from his vantage point as Pidge addressed the crowd, indicating their machine and moving their arms around wildly. Lance smiled at his friend.

Suddenly, all the Tributes cheered and Pidge bowed, before taking something out of their pocket and fiddling with it for a moment.

Music started and all the Tributes went to dancing, and Lance waited with bated breath for Pidge to reveal what their machine could do.

Lance was surprised the the machine burst out thousands of tiny pieces of paper in a steady stream. Pidge had built a high-powered confetti cannon.

There were streamers and pieces of confetti filling up the entire room now and everyone was cheering and Lance was laughing, because he was not expecting _that_.

Suddenly there was screaming and Lance was not expecting that either.

Lance’s gaze shot to the Floor, where there was suddenly a swirling maelstrom of flames. Pidge had forgotten about the candles.

Every single one of the tiny papers caught on fire.

The Tributes were scattering and screaming and there was fire raining from the sky and Shiro’s fire extinguisher wouldn’t be of much help here. From what Lance could see, Coran and Swanky were still making out on the couch, and Kevin was nowhere to be found. Probably in the rafters.

The confetti was staying in the air, swirling around and falling and shooting back up again. There was flying fire and chaos and nobody knew how to put it out and it was spreading. A few tables and chairs fell over, and Lance heard some alarming crashes.

Pitt was still standing in the middle of the Floor, seemingly unafraid of the firestorm.

**-Thace-**

He didn’t go to the banquet because he had too much to do. Too many things to be taken care of.

Besides, training was so much easier without the other Tributes in the way.

Thace sat with Nyma and Rolo and the three of them discussed how they were going to pull off the revolution. They were rudely interrupted by the Mentors barging in and taking some axes, muttering about barricades and wooden doors. Thace was not as concerned as he should’ve been.

Thace took a bite of a mushroom.

The Mentors were returning the axes not much later, clearly rattled and speaking with each other in hushed voices about a fire breathing monster and how they just wanted to sleep.

Thace was not as concerned as he should’ve been. He only tied off a knot and sighed.

All was peaceful.

**-Haxus-**

Zarkon's pride was recovered, as was his nose, so he decided on a new plan of action. Haxus sat by and watched in horror as Zarkon and Sendak and Haggar devised a strategy that was doomed to fail.

“Zarkon,” Haxus piped up, “You’re not thinking enough about Lance. What do you think Lance would want?”

This gave Zarkon pause. Zarkon looked into the distance.

“I know,” he said, “Lance… is kinky.”

Haxus didn’t like where this was going.

**-Pidge-**

They wasted no time in throwing the confetti cannon out the window once the fire had been cleaned up. Everybody was back to being merry, so the night wasn’t ruined by… the event.

It was scary, okay? Have you ever been at the foot of a giant swirling fire tornado?

Everybody was getting back into the swing of things when Pidge was approached by Zarkon. They were vaguely surprised that he’d gotten in again, but mostly they were just curious about what he wanted.

“Small one,” Zarkon said, addressing them. Pidge was distantly offended.

“What do you need Zarkon?” Pidge asked, with just the right amount of disinterest to make it seem like their service was unattainable. Essentially, Pidge was playing hard to get. 

“Give me some rope,” Zarkon said. Pidge didn’t let their surprise show. Rope? After the stuff Zarkon was pulling earlier, they certainly didn’t think it would be a good idea.

“What’s the magic word?” Pidge asked slyly. This gave Zarkon pause.

“I will return,” he said, and turned and walked away. Pidge wasn’t sad to see him go.

—

“Small one.” Pidge sighed.

“Yes, Zarkon?”

“Give me some rope, or I’ll punch you in the face.” Pidge was only mildly surprised.

“Is that what Sendak told you the magic word was?” Pidge asked. Zarkon mumbled an affirmation.

Pidge looked Zarkon in the eye for a moment before clearing their throat and stepping aside. Matt emerged from the shadows behind them and leveled Zarkon with a glare.

“Wrong,” Matt said assertively.

“I see,” Zarkon remarked after a moment, and walked off.

**-Hunk-**

Even through all the havoc, it had been a nice night. Hunk had spent all of it with Shay, and the two were managing to keep level-headed as everybody else went haywire.

Besides, both of them had drunk some alcohol, so they were at least drunk enough that the other’s antics could be amusing.

Hunk and Shay had mostly spent the night talking together and occasionally dancing. Shay was a wonderful conversationalist, and Hunk could probably talk to her for hours on end. She was so expressive and passionate with every word and Hunk just loved to hear her talk.

The two were talking now, but it was late and they were drunk so they were laying on a couch together and asking each other questions.

“What is your dream?” Shay asked as she lazily stared at the ceiling. Hunk yawned.

“It dwells in a world that isn’t this one. What’s yours?” Hunk responded, looking to Shay. She smiled.

“Much the same. I just feel so _trapped_ here. It is to the point that the only solution is _not being here_.”

Hunk nodded. He’d had much the same thoughts himself.

“What is your favorite food?” Shay asked him, looking him in the eyes intently now, with a small smile on her face. Hunk couldn’t help but smile back.

“You’re kidding,” he responded, and Shay laughed.

“Nope. You have to answer,” she said. Her eyes were alight. Hunk had to think about his answer for a moment.

“Probably my uncle’s chicken soup. It was classic and simple, and tasted _so good._ I think it was the equivalent of perfection,” Hunk said. Shay smiled.

“What’s your favorite color?” Hunk asked. Shay hummed.

“Blue or purple. Maybe both. They are inexplicably calming,” she said. Hunk smiled.

“What is your favorite book?” Shay asked him. Hunk groaned.

“That’s even worse than your last question!” He exclaimed, and Shay laughed lightly.

“Fine, tell me about your favorite _books_ then,” she said, and Hunk was relieved he wouldn’t have to choose.

“I always liked the fantastical books. The unlikely, the imaginary. They were epic bedtime stories. There were tales of old and young and male and female and human and animal as they went on grand adventure after grand adventure,” Hunk recounted. Shay yawned and blinked sleepily.

“There was always some sort of hope. Good always won out against evil. They always had a home to walk back to and a family to hug. It was just nice, I guess. The kind of life I wanted to live, adventure and victory and happiness.”  
Shay smiled.

“We should go on an adventure when this is all over, you and I,” she said. Hunk was shocked by her words.

“We will have our friends to come home to, and if not-“ she was cut off by her own yawn, which made Hunk yawn, “-if not, then we will have to be each other’s homes to come back to.”

Hunk was silent, but he smiled. He felt the need to smile around her. He felt the want.

“If you’re a home I’m coming back to I don’t know why I’d ever leave in the first place,” Hunk said. Shay nodded.

“We will just have to be at each other’s sides the whole time,” she said. Hunk nodded.

The two were unconsciously moving closer as they fell asleep. They were both cuddlers, but neither wanted to invade the other’s space.

They drifted off for a while, dozing happily on the same couch.

When they woke up, they were holding hands and their faces were inches apart. Neither so much as flinched though, only gave each other dopey smiles.

“Good morning,” Shay said jokingly. Hunk chuckled. They were drawing closer still.  
Hunk saw Shay’s eyes move down, quickly enough that he wouldn’t have seen if he wasn’t looking.

She smiled when she looked back at him.  
They moved closer, and Hunk felt his nose brush past hers.

“I need your help,” came a booming voice from behind them. Hunk jumped so badly he fell off the couch. He looked up Zarkon was holding a bleeding nose and Shay was apologizing profusely and asking if he was okay and if there was anything she could do. The situation was almost funny.

Hunk didn’t know where Sendak came from, but Sendak was suddenly there.

“Do you wanna fight?” He asked Shay aggressively. “Huh? Is that it chump?” Shay wasn’t standing down.

“I was acting on pure instinct,” she said carefully. Sendak snorted and brought up his fists.

“Put ‘em up, girlie, we’re gonna fight,” Sendak said. Hunk pushed himself off the floor.

“Nobody wants to fight,” Hunk said carefully, pushing Sendak’s fists down. Sendak bristled, but walked away once Zarkon gave him a look.

“What do you need, Zarkon?” Hunk asked tiredly.

“What’s the magic word?” Zarkon asked. Hunk gave him a weird look.

“The magic word is _please_ , Zarkon,” he said carefully. Zarkon nodded.

“I see,” he said, and walked off. Hunk let out a sigh.

Shay started laughing, and at that point Hunk could only do the same.

**-Pidge-**

“Small one.” Pidge sighed again, this time even more long suffering.

“Yes Zarkon?”

“Give me some rope, _please_ ,” Zarkon said. Pidge smirked. They hoped Zarkon could sense the bad intentions behind the smirk.

“Okay,” Pidge said, drawing the coil of rope out of their pocket.

**-Keith-**

Keith had done and seen a lot of things that night that he thought were the best things that had ever happened in his life. He was wrong.

Seeing Zarkon crawling through balloons on all floors with Pidge standing on his back was the best thing he’d _ever seen_ in his _entire life._ Pidge had rope in their hands, probably trussed Zarkon up in order for him to agree to this.

Keith didn’t know who started the applause but he certainly wasn’t going to end it.

As Zarkon and Pidge moved past him and Lance, Zarkon held steady eye contact with Lance. Zarkon winked.

Lance, suddenly, started crying.

Keith felt anger wash through him and  made a split second decision. He shifted his weight, getting in perfect position to _kick_ _Zarkon in the face as hard as he could._

He heard a thud as his foot made contact. Zarkon fell over and Pidge jumped off his back carefully. Keith wasn’t very concerned about Zarkon. Keith probably only gave him a bruise.

Nonetheless, Sendak came from nowhere and got in Keith’s face.

“Oh, so you want to fight now, huh? You wanna go, chump?” Sendak asked, bringing up his fists. Keith did kind of want to go, maybe hang out on the couches with Lance for a while, but he could fight too. He brought up his fists without hesitation, but Kevin dropped from the sky and landed next to Keith. Keith jumped.

Kevin leapt to his feet and punched Sendak in the face. Sendak went down in a heap with Zarkon. Everybody cheered.

Kevin turned back to Keith with a smirk and put up his hand for a high five. Keith did the same, and they went for it, but they both wobbled and missed. They shrugged it off.

**-Lance-**

As he watched Kevin and Keith, he got a jarring memory of a time he missed. A very recent time he missed. He missed by a nose.

He felt the tears coming even faster now, and turned to go find Coran. He needed emotional support only Coran could provide.

He found Coran on a different couch than originally, still making out with Swanky.

He sat down at the end of the couch and just cried. Coran reached out and patted his shoulder, but didn’t turn away from Swanky. It was still a comfort as Lance cried himself dry.

Lance could distantly hear everybody trying to hold court and exile Zarkon and Sendak, but struggling without their kings. Nobody really wanted to break Coran and Swanky apart. Pitt ended up stepping in as ‘Prince’, and Allura threw Zarkon and Sendak out the Banishment Window.

Balance was restored to the banquet.

**-Pidge-**

Pidge wasn’t sure if they delighted in or were disgusted by the conclusions their brain was drawing.

There were a limited amount of reasons Zarkon could’ve wanted rope, and Pidge decided to confront Lance about it directly.

“Hey Lance,” Pidge said casually as he sipped some juice. He made a noncommittal noise in response.

“Are you into bondage?” Pidge questioned simply. Lance spat out his juice and started coughing violently. Pidge was unconcerned.

“No, what the- _no_. _No_. Pidge. N- _or,_ well-“ Lance cut himself off and tilted his head a bit, squinting. He looked like he was considering something. He turned and looked over at Keith across the room for a minute, but turned back around.

“Yeah, nah,” he said, sipping his juice again. Pidge couldn’t believe it.

“That sounded a whole lot like a _maybe_ ,” Pidge remarked, and Lance spat out his juice again. Lance was protesting valiantly when Pidge saw a movement out of the corner of their eye. They zeroed in their gaze on the shadows.

They could barely make out a figure there.

Pidge checked their watch. It was their four o’clock.

They left Lance to his journey of self-discovery and melted into the shadows, sidling up to their client silently. Neither of them looked at each other.

“Did you do it?” Shiro asked.

“Just as you asked,” Pidge responded. “Did you get the stuff?”

Pidge heard rustling come from behind them and the crackle of a plastic bag, and they were handed their loot.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Pidge said evilly as they reached into the bag they had been handed and snatched a butterscotch, ripping it from its wrapping and plopping it in their mouth.

“Don’t get cavities,” Shiro said as he walked off. Pidge cackled.

**-Allura-**

She was surprised but relieved when Shiro pulled her aside and asked her away from the banquet with him. Allura loved everybody, of course she did, but she could only take so many fires.

She agreed and Shiro led her through a fairly hidden door to a small closet-like room. Allura smiled broadly when she saw the room in front her.

There was a small upside down box in the center of the room, with two plates of potatoes resting on top. There was a single candle burning on the center of the box. Two purple cushions were on the floor on either side of the box.

Shiro had set up a candlelit dinner.

Allura walked forward and sat on one of the cushions, prodding carefully at one of the potatoes on her plate. When she looked up Shiro was sitting across from her, smiling but apprehensive.

“I’ve been wanting to maul the buffet since we walked in the Hall, thank you for this,” Allura told Shiro. Shiro’s smile brightened, and he gestured at the plates with his fork.

“Then, shall we?” Shiro asked. Allura didn’t need to be told twice. She was digging in eagerly before Shiro finished the sentence.

A trickle of music bled in through the walls from the Hall, and Allura looked around herself. It almost looked like they were in a spacious coat closet.

“How did you find this room?” Allura asked Shiro.

“I have sources,” Shiro said. Allura laughed.

“So, Pidge?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Allura hummed and ate her potatoes. Shiro was right when he said they were good.

“So, now that any fire that occurs is not our technical responsibility, tell me, if you were to have the choice between orange juice and spiked punch, which would you rather drink?” Shiro asked. Allura laughed at the first part and told him she’d rather have orange juice.

Shiro produced a glass of orange juice out of nowhere, and Allura was impressed. She smiled as Shiro gave it to her, she almost felt like she couldn’t stop smiling.

—

Allura and Shiro were laughing together about one of Allura’s funny stories when there was a thud from outside, and the door opened.

A very drunk Coran was revealed.

He looked between Shiro and Allura and the candle on the table, then he took a drink from his bottle, and smiled at them.

“Ah, c'est l'amour,” he sang, holding steady eye contact with Allura and Shiro. He slowly backed out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Allura and Shiro looked at each other.

“Why does Pidge keep giving him alcohol?”

—

Allura and Shiro were lying next to each other on the carpeted floor with their heads on the purple pillows. There were no stars to look at, but they could imagine.

They were holding hands.

Shiro was telling an old story, the kind of story you’d tell your little siblings before bed, and Allura was chuckling at the way he told it.

It was comfortably warm in the room, and they were still laying close to one another ‘For body heat’.

Allura turned to Shiro, and thought he looked good in the candlelight. Starkly contrasted, and Allura had strain her eyes to see him at all. The light flickered across his features, and Allura smiled warmly and the sleepiness in his eyes.

Then Shiro was looking back at her, and he was backlit by the candle.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hey,” he responded.

They laid there and shared each others air.

**-Pidge-**

Pidge was already holding out some whiskey to Coran when he approached them. They just had a steady stream of alcohol for him. Coran pushed the bottle aside, and Pidge was more than surprised by the action.

When they turned to him, Coran looked… _sober_ almost.

Pidge was confused. They didn’t think Coran remembered what sober was at this point.

“Pidge,” he said very seriously, “I found Shiro and Allura having a romantic candlelight dinner. As their friend I would like to ask that you ensure nobody else finds them and interferes.”

Pidge paused for a moment, but they knew they could pull that off. They could hire Matt to help out, and it was a pretty hidden room in the first place.

They agreed and Coran looked relieved, and then he took another drink from his bottle and went off somewhere, probably to start playing tonsil tennis with Swanky.

Pidge made a face and went back to their laptop.

—

Pidge knew the punch was spiked. Pidge drank the punch anyway. Pidge was now a bit more drunk than they were proud of.

They lumbered around and got more food off the buffet tables, because that stuff was still really good and if nobody else was eating it Pidge gladly would.

They heard screaming from behind them and whipped around, holding their cookie closer to their chest.

The king’s thrones were on fire, and Pidge’s first reaction was to scream. Screaming always helps.

The fire was spreading to the drapes and over the walls, and Pidge was frozen.

They decided the best plan of action would be to take as much food as they could and run.

So Pidge grabbed random handfuls of food off the tables and started running across the room as fast as they could, still screaming. The Tributes were scrambling to put out the fire and Pidge huddled under a couch and started eating the food they had.

It was good food.

When Pidge looked out from under the couch, everything was fine again, although there were ugly scorch marks on the walls. Pidge had an idea about how they would fix that, though.

Pidge made their way back to the buffet tables and focused on the chocolate cake. They took a gob of icing in their hand, then went over to the walls and smeared it over any scorch marks they could find.

That fixed it.

Pidge went back and ate some of the chocolate cake, and it actually tasted good without the frosting.

**-Lance-**

“-t absolutely _decimated_ the tower, I was impressed,” Kevin was saying, and Lance nodded along.

There was a bit of an interruption, though. There was a form next to Lance, and when he turned he saw Sendak standing there. _Where did he come from_?

“Did somebody say decimate?” Sendak asked. Kevin looked like he was about to say something, but Sendak was already swinging his fist, and Lance barely had time to dodge.

Keith carefully caught Sendak’s wrist, and there was inches of space between his fist and Lance’s nose.

Keith stared at Sendak, his expression stormy.

“Sendak,” Keith said, “are you trying to hit on my boyfriend?”

There was a lapse in time when Lance felt warmth blossom in his chest and a smile on his face.

“Boyfriend?” He asked Keith happily. Everything was warm and golden, suddenly.

“ _Boyfriend_?” Kevin growled from next to Lance. Lance was suddenly very aware that he should be, and was, very scared.

Lance turned to Kevin and Kevin had murder in his eyes.

Lance started running.

—

Zarkon was back in and Lance couldn’t find Allura anywhere in the Hall but maybe that was because he was crying again. Crying was just an automatic response at this point.

“What do I have to do to make you mine, princess?” Zarkon asked. Lance was drunk but he was nowhere near drunk enough for this. He just cried more.

“Lance is a _princess_?” Kevin said from not too far away. Lance looked up and Kevin was walking towards them.

“Sorry Zarkon but you’ve gotta go, king’s decrees and all. Besides, we can’t have you harassing our princess.”

Kevin escorted Zarkon out of the Hall, but Lance didn’t stop crying. He turned to go find Keith. Keith would make him happier.

—

Everybody was now convinced Lance was a princess. When Kevin told Keith, Keith turned red and put a hand to his cheek, where Lance had kissed him earlier.

“I… I got kissed by a _princess_ ,” Keith said in wonderment. Lance sighed and went to find Pidge, who was also refusing to call him anything but princess.

Everywhere he went, there was no escape. He was princess Lance now.

Lance was despairing these facts on a couch when Keith sat down next to him.  Lance turned to Keith, and Keith looked very confused.

“Dude, there’s no way you're a princess,” Keith said, almost to himself. “We cuddle every night, I can _feel_ that stuff in your pants you’re not subtle.”

Lance should’ve been mortified, but in the end he was relieved Keith wasn’t calling him princess. Now he just needed to convince everyone else.

Keith patted his shoulder when Lance told him these things, but he still had a bit of a faraway look on his face.

“You okay Keith?” Lance asked. Keith nodded and yawned.

“Tired,” he said. Lance stood up and Keith laid down on the couch, already falling asleep.

Lance huffed fondly and made his way over to the buffet tables. While ranting to Keith, he had developed a plan.

He pushed himself up onto one of the tables and stood shakily, fork in one hand and glass in the other. He tapped the glass lightly with the fork.

“Your attention please,” Lance proclaimed.

Everybody in the room turned to him, and their eyes were glossy. He heard whispers of ‘It’s the princess’ ‘Listen to the princess’ ‘What does the princess need?’

Lance threw the glass at the floor as hard as he could.

“ _I am not a princess!_ ” He shouted. There was a pause.

“That looked fun,” somebody said.

Everybody was silent before they all threw their own glasses and dishes at the floor, and they shattered everywhere.

Lance was still distraught.

He thought for a moment. He put on underwear that morning, he was positive, so he looked around the room again and dropped his pants.

He was glad he put on underwear.

Everybody was quiet again, until there was a distinctly Pidge-like voice.

“Yeah, he’s a dude,” Pidge said.

Everybody went back to their own ruckus and Lance pulled up his pants again.

When he went back to the couches, Coran was there. Coran rubbed Lance’s back when Lance plopped down next to him and put his head in his hands.

“It’s okay buddy,” Coran said. Lance sighed.

“Here, you’ve been crying a lot, right? You need to hydrate, have some alcohol,” Coran said, handing his bottle to Lance.

Lance grabbed the bottle and took a drink.

Coran was always good at comforting.

**-Xan-**

Xan didn’t know why or how Pidge hooked up the speakers to project softly onto the balcony, but he and Dex and Pawn had been hearing the music all night.

The three had been conversing on the balcony and avoiding the havoc of the banquet since the square dancing, because a person could only take so much.

They realized that the evening was coming to an end when Pidge announced a last song through the speakers. Going in for the last song was practically mandatory, so they all stood up and stretched out and went back in.

The Tributes were much more drunk and much more tired, except for Hunk and Shay and Shiro and Allura. Those four were wide awake and happy and mostly sober.

That was an accomplishment.

Everybody gathered on the Floor for the last song, even Pidge, and the candles were burning low as it played. Everybody kicked balloons and laughed and held hands and danced through the song, a well chosen one. Pidge had finesse, even while drunk.

When the song ended everybody cheered, because that was what felt right to do, and threw a few balloons in the air.

They all went to move the buffet tables away from the door so they could get out, and Xan saw Matt and Lance drunkenly pull off a complicated handshake once the tables were moved.

When Xan looked around the Dining Hall, it was a mess of balloons and burnt furniture and broken bottles and tables and candle wax and everything was in a terrible state of disarray.

Xan smirked at that. The Mentors would  
have to clean it up.

The Tributes stumbled into the hallway, and there was a palpable difference in the atmosphere. They all broke off to go to their own rooms, although Xan noted that Lance and Keith, Shiro and Allura, and Hunk and Shay stayed together. He chuckled. Young love.

He felt warm and comfortable as he collapsed on his bed. The mattress and blanket enveloped him as he laid there, and he thought back on everything as he stared at the ceiling and imagined stars.

It had been a good night.

**Author's Note:**

> ??????  
> ???????????  
>  Ahem.  
> I apologize.
> 
>  
> 
> My tumblr: huethemudluff (feel free to shoot me a message/ask)


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